Devil's Bargain
by WolftheForsaken
Summary: Trixie gets kidnapped. Lucifer disapproves.
1. Chapter 1

#

The phone rings, loud and shrill, gloatingly cutting through the breathy moans filling the room.

"Are you guna' get that?" The blonde man murmured hoarsely, pulling off to take a few quick breaths, gazing up at the Devil with adoring eyes.

"Did I say stop?" Lucifer replied with a roguish grin, one hand going for the phone even as the other twisted into the lad's – what was his name again – hair for a better grip to thrust with. My oh my but this one could really swallow.

It's one of the best blowjobs he's ever had – and that's saying a lot – so Lucifer knows immediately that only the Detective could have the poor taste to disturb him right now.

"Detective," he purred without even looking at the screen, head thrown back in bliss. "What could I possibly do for you at this hour?"

It's so late it's early. Dawn was on the horizon, and Lucifer had partied hard all day and all night. If the Detective were calling for pleasure… he'd be all over it. But he knew better now than to hope for anything so diverting.

"Lucifer? Sorry to wake you –

"-You didn't."

"Jesus do you ever sleep?"

"Wrong name, and of course I do. Sloth is one of my favourites. But as it happens, Detective, I'm rather busy right now – mmm, just like that – so,"

"Oh my _god_ are you actually having sex right now? I can not _believe_ you. I'm hanging up - "

"Just oral, darling. Unless you'd like to tell me what you're wearing?"

"Oh you are so _disgusting."_

"Was there a reason for this call, Detective? Not that I mind a little exhibitionism, but – "

His detective sighs, and Lucifer frowns. There are many voices in the background, male, raised and agitated.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm on my way."

* * *

Four words, ones Maze had even heard Lucifer say before. And yet…

She knew this time was different – right down to the depths of her shadowed soul. Lucifer had his back to her, but there was a _feeling_ to the air that had the hairs on the back of her neck petrified upright.

Her Lord had awoken.

Quickly she hustled his dazed partner into his clothes and out of the door before turning back to Lucifer.

He wasn't even pretending at humanity now. His eyes were blazing red, reflecting the realm he ruled uncontested.

And to think, Maze had _disliked_ the mortal woman. If she'd known that the mortal could provoke this sort of reaction, she'd have kicked Lucifer out of Hell _herself._

"Orders?" she asked as easily as she had a thousands times before. Efficiency, thy name is Mazikeen. She didn't need to know _what_ was wrong or ask if her Lord and Master were all right. Such mortals concerns were beneath them.

The Devil would command; his demon obey.

"The spawn has been kidnapped," Lucifer spoke softly, gracefully tucking his phone away and smoothing the lines of his jacket as if the room _hadn't_ started shaking under the weight of his Wrath and his eyes – windows to the soul, you know – were not as red as Hell's endless fires.

"Rescue?" Maze asked. Her master preferred the personal touch when it came to Punishment, but the question had to be asked anyway.

"Quite," Lucifer murmured.

Mazikeen frowned, feeling a tiny flicker of doubt. Lucifer was acting odd again. Normally he'd have already been out the door; Crushing this challenge to his authority in an iron fist. Instead, he … lingered. Playing with the coin.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

Was he having a human moment, Mazikeen wondered in bewilderment? What in Hell was she supposed to do? This wasn't _normal._ She didn't have millions of years of experience to tell her what to do.

"Mazikeen," he eventually commanded, "I'll be needing that feather you kept."

She froze.

There was no need to ask _what feather, my Lord?_

He obviously knew. He had a nasty habit of _always knowing_ but then again he had Created her. But if he was _asking_ for it back… Mazikeen shivered in delight.

"Yes, my Lord," she knelt, a quick and familiar deference, before rising and taking three steps back, turning to fetch it.

This was going to be _so much fun._

* * *

"How can you not know?" Chloe asked; teeth clenched with the last remnants of her patience. "My daughter is _missing."_

The oh so helpful FBI Agent gave her a bland, professional smile that was somehow supposed to convey reassurance. It didn't. it just made Chloe want to claw it off.

"We're doing all we can. You know how this works detective."

So now she was detective was she? What happened to 'Mrs Espinoza, oh sorry, ma'am'. Was Ms. Decker no longer patronising enough for Agent bloody Johnson.

"I know how undermanned you are," Chloe tried a different tact. "The media presence alone…"

"You're emotionally compromised." Johnson said flatly. "You'd be a hindrance, not a help. Also do I have to remind you again, detective, that this is a federal investigation."

"You're using local manpower. I'm volunteering."

"Trust in your colleagues then."

The audacity of that statement silenced Chloe. Was he joking? Or did he know about the Paul Meadow Street fiasco? Trust in her colleagues who flat out hated her most of the time? Her colleagues who wouldn't take her word on what she'd seen? The same colleagues who still hid a dirty cop from her?

"Chloe," Dan interrupted, giving Agent Johnson time to vanish and wrapping his arm around her waist to guide her away.

She knew he was trying to be comforting. It didn't feel comforting. It felt possessive and quite frankly she'd had enough.

"Not here, OK, come on, let's go and get some fresh air."

"I don't need managing, Dan," she hissed, infuriated. "Why did you let him escape? I nearly had him."

"Don't make a scene," Dan replied firmly.

Those four words were all it took for Chloe to remember all the reasons they'd separated in the first place.

"If you hadn't been late," she whispered heatedly, forcing down the madly twisting whirlwind of emotion down.

"I was working a case," Dan defended.

Chloe gave him a look of such utter disgust that he fell silent and looked away, ashamed. As he should be.

Working a case? Like she didn't manage to work full time, look after Trixie every single day and do all the housework. Like his work was more important than their child. God, why had she thought he'd changed? That he even _tried_ to defend himself, when a monster of a man had kidnapped their daughter, could be doing anything to her - it was too much to bear.

Was it really, honest to god, too much to expect a little support?

"Don't touch me Dan," Chloe said, shrugging his arm off and suddenly feeling every iota of exhaustion built up over the past couple of hours.

Dan looked stunned.

"Chloe… why are you… look, this isn't my fault!"

He spoke far too loudly. Who was making a scene now? She thought vengefully as their colleagues' heads popped up over the cheap dividers.

Cops _loved_ gossip.

Chloe forced a smile; it felt stretched too tight over her skin.

Arguing with Dan would only give her so-called colleagues more ammunition against her.

She was a woman. Worse, everyone had already seen her topless. She had to work twice as hard to be considered half as good and she wasn't allowed to have a bad day. Not even today. No doubt if it was Dan raging about his missing daughter, everyone would be reacting very, very differently.

"Detective?"

"Oh thank God," she greeted, as Lucifer walked into the bullpen.

"Decidedly not," he returned with a charming grin, taking in the situation with a glance.

"You called _him?"_ Dan's outrage was palpable behind her.

"Why, of course she did, Detective Douche, who else could she possibly rely on in a situation like this?" Lucifer drew her into a hug, and Chloe went. She knew what he was likely to say but she just didn't care.

 _Lucifer_ came to _support_ her, whilst her separated-husband tried to shift the blame.

"Certainly not you," Lucifer continued smoothly. Chloe didn't need to look to know what the expression on Dan's face was.

"I, I, get _off_ of her!"

"It's a hug, Douche. This is called _emotional support_ I believe. I've been reading."

Lucifer's chest rumbled with every word and Chloe was feeling calmer by the second. Lucifer just had that kind of presence to him. He was _annoying_ and _inexplicable_ and probably some sort of mild-sociopath but he was _here._ And he smelled good. Not that she'd ever tell him that, but his cologne was _amazing._ Mind you, he probably paid for that in the thousands.

"That's my _wife."_

Again with the possessiveness. Honestly. She wasn't sure if was the 'my' or 'wife' that bothered her the most, although Dan definitely thought of the two as the same right now.

"Separated." Lucifer purred, sounded absolutely delighted. "And after this _divorced,_ I don't doubt _."_ The words just rolled off his tongue like sin.

"Enough," Chloe said, stepping back, ready to face the world again. "Dan, just go. Haven't you done enough? Lucifer, a word please."

Normally, she found Lucifer's side business of being some sort of modern godfather highly unethical. But it was damned useful, and the cynic in her thought that at least Lucifer was being honest about what the rest of the world tried to do in secret.

Still, somebody with a shady past would owe Lucifer a Favour.

He'd call them in for her.

That probably meant she owed him a few Favours by now too. The thought made her scowl. Still if it saved her daughter he could have anything he wanted- not that she thought he'd really blackmail her into anything.

Well, probably not, anyway.

Oh, what did it matter?

 _TrixieTrixieTrixieTrixieTrixie._

* * *

"Have you been keeping up with the news?" Chloe asked, wondering how to segue into the topic as she casually checked the door for any eavesdroppers. Pulling Lucifer into a small conference room probably hadn't done the gossip much good but she was too tired to care for their prejudice now.

"What news exactly?" Lucifer rolled his eyes, "You humans are constantly spouting the latest disasters. Honestly, it's like you delight in reporting the suffering of others."

Chloe took a breath. Lucifer's Luciferness was just part of the package. This just _really_ wasn't the time.

"There's a …man," the word just wasn't strong enough. "He's kidnapping the children of famous people, writers, bloggers, public speakers, actors." Her breath hitched slightly. "And then he's selling them, online. An auction for…paedophiles." She spat the word out. It was the first time she'd managed to say it aloud ever since Trixie had been taken. She'd been thinking it, constantly, but saying it aloud made it far too real.

Her daughter was with him right now. How scared she must be how -

"He sends a secure link to the parents in an email. He makes them watch the auction and then he just vanishes to a new state and starts again." Chloe took a deep breath. Lucifer would help. He always helped. He was her ace in the hole since the FBI were shutting her out.

"This creature has the spawn?"

Lucifer's tone was… odd. Chloe risked a look into his eyes.

They looked red.

A trick of the light.

She couldn't speak; she nodded once instead, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"The Feds are here. It's a federal crime. They won't let me work the case, but they say Trixie has seventy two hours from capture to auction. It's been twelve."

"Alright."

"Lucifer, I can't-"

"I know."

"Please," she begged, feeling tears well, "I need, I can't, can you-, there must be something-"

"Chloe."

It was the first time that Lucifer had said her name. The surprise was enough to break her out of her panic and managed to look into her eyes. They didn't look red anymore – how could they be, it was just a trick anyway – they looked _kind._ Full of compassion and empathy. She had to look away his sincerity was too much.

Maybe he really had been an angel, once.

The stress was getting to her.

"My word is my bond," Lucifer reminded her, "And I give you my _word_ , dearest detective, that I will return your little human to you alive."

It was stupid to believe him. So so, stupid. What value did a promise have anyway? But she'd been around long enough to know that reputation _mattered_ to Lucifer. She guess it kind of had to, when your business was favours. He hadn't promised to return Trixie safe or unharmed – and she wished he had if only to make her believe the same – he'd promised to return her _alive_. That was practical. Achievable.

Huh. Apparently, she really did believe him then, which meant…

"Thank you."

She braced herself to face the world again. "Where do we start?"

#


	2. Chapter 2

#

Lucifer smiled. It was a not a nice smile but Chloe ignored that easily. Her own smiles had become just as sharp in the past seven hundred and fifty minutes since Dan had called to complain. _Why did she make him leave work if she was just going to pick Trixie up herself anyway?_

"We can start, detective, by you telling me everything you know. Then you can point out the FBI agent I ought to question."

He _said_ question. Chloe heard 'seduce and or mind whammy.' She didn't care.

"Trixie was at school." This part was easy to talk about. She'd already run through it a dozen times with a dozen different faceless blurs in uniforms. "I was stuck in traffic miles away. I called Dan at half two to let him know he'd need to pick her up at half three. He called me at four twenty two to ask why he had to leave work if I'd already picked her up."

That moment was frozen in her memory. Still gridlocked in traffic her heart had started hammering like a racehorse, but she'd been absolutely helpless to do anything.

"I said I hadn't. I was still on the freeway."

She took a deep breath, but Lucifer wasn't like the others – he didn't interrupt.

"I called the school office. The receptionist was there. She said Trixie had been the last student to be picked up. A police car pulled up about four. Trixie got in. The car drove off. That was the last anyway saw of her."

"Very well. Now tell me about this kidnapper. Does he have a name?"

"The press are calling him The Collector," Chloe scoffed. She didn't approve of giving these monsters the attention they wanted. Making him infamous was the last thing they ought to be doing.

"The Collector," Lucifer hummed noncommittally. "Interesting."

"I managed to eavesdrop on the FBI at their _coffee_ _break,"_ She gritted her teeth. She took breaks when working too. But it was her _daughter._ Calling for Lucifer – and interrupting his latest depravity – had been the longest break she'd allowed herself. "They have this psychology department trying to predict his behaviour, and their main hope is to track him through the emails. I was told to expect one at the twenty four hour mark."

Chloe fell silent; Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and looked at her until she caved.

"Johnson said they'd be pictures," she admitted softly, eyes tight with pain.

"Pictures could have clues," Lucifer replied gently. "Don't fret. I have given you my word you know."

"I know," Chloe replied shortly. "I want her back, Lucifer. I want her back _right now._ God what if they already- _"_

"Then I promise you, detective, they'll never find the body, or the soul."

She shouldn't find that comforting. She did.

#

Mazikeen descended to Hell by dint of walking through the nearest shadow and angling herself _down._

The Gates remained shut. Lucifer hadn't been down here yet, despite reclaiming the full might of his powers, and so shut they would remain. There was a hoard of Damned souls lingering outside, unable to enter and unable to leave. No wonder Amenadiel had been in such a snit.

"Please, where am I – '

"Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god."

"Forgive me, please, god can anyone hear me?"

"What did I do _wrong_?"

"This can't be real. I'm an _atheist_ do you hear me?!"

Mazikeen felt a sense of soothing warmth as she flew over the Damned and the Outer Wall. Hell itself changed according to the whims of their Lord and Master, but the Wall and the Damned never changed.

She was home.

Even the intrusive enchantments on the Wall filled her with a sense of nostalgic homecoming. Ugh. How human of her. Even a month ago, she'd have been disgusted with herself for becoming so contaminated.

But a month ago, she didn't have a friend.

"The dog returns, I see."

"Jealous, Lilith?" Mazikeen snapped back without needing to think about it as she landed on the steps of Lucifer's palace. "Five years, just he and I up Above." Her smile was all teeth.

It would surprise no one to know that Hell had invented politics. As Lucifer's bodyguard, Mazikeen had the honour of constant attendance to Lucifer's person. She performed many roles; His left hand; his envoy; his messenger; his secretary; his housekeeper and his lover.

What she did didn't really matter. According to Hell's social rankings the closer you were to Lucifer, the higher you stood.

Mazikeen had served in his very shadow since the night he'd Created her meanwhile Lilith had been an experiment; Adam's original wife turned first demon of Lucifer's own Creation. An experiment that now ruled a division of three hundred thousand soldiers, but an experiment none the less.

"How you must have pined," Maze continued, observing the pristine palace with interest. It was a mighty creation of black and white marble, and it dominated Hell's landscape. Every famous architect, builder, painter, artist who had ever earned time down Below eventually added to it in lieu of mercy. In the past five years, a good deal of progress had been made. Leonardo had gotten his extra tower at least.

"I await his return loyally, notice the speed with which I arrived?"

"Indeed, you were so quick, you must have been here already. Waiting in his empty bed? Have you been there all this time? It must be cold."

"And yet you have retuned alone." Lilith's tone was as sharp as a dagger. "Abandoned were you? Did Lucifer grow tired of your dubious charms… _again_?"

Victory was sweet. Sweeter still when her opponent was Lilith.

"Actually, our Lord awaits my return eagerly. I come with Orders, Lilith," she held out her hand. The baphomet coin glowed brightly with Lucifer's Grace – proof that the Orders did indeed come from him.

Lilith glared, her eyes flickering orange, but there was nothing she could do or say to Maze now and they both knew it.

"Well?" she hissed.

"You are to take your Legion Above. In mortal guise, you will sweep the continent known as America and the surrounding territories. Your target is a mortal child named Beatrice Decker; she is to be brought to Lucifer immediately. Whoever holds her captive is also to be located and brought to our Lord for Punishment," Maze recited faithfully and formally. "This is her picture."

Lilith blinked.

"The entire Legion to go Above? Are we at war?"

"No. The child was stolen from Lucifer."

That was all that needed to be said. They knew, and loved, what Lucifer did to thieves.

"It will be done," Lilith promised with a firm nod. Their feud would never end, but Lucifer's will always took precedence. It didn't surprise Maze when Lilith immediately turned away, leathery wings snapping from her back as she launched herself into the air, flying hard for her own demesne. Soon the clamour of horns and bells could be heard, the sound ringing across all of Hell in a careful pattern that Maze could interpret automatically. Hell was organised.

 _Division of Lilith. Emergency summon. All ranks report. Immediate deployment._

All throughout the realms of Hell, demons set aside their tools and their playthings, collecting weapons and armour, hastening to Lilith's call.

#

"Oh Agent Johnson," Lucifer crooned, "It _is_ Agent Johnson isn't it?" He crowded into the agent's personal space with a devilish grin. "So very nice to meet you."

"Yes, that's me." Agent Johnson puffed up proudly under Lucifer's enthralling gaze, his beer belly bulging against the cheap shirt. "And you are?"

"Lucifer. Morningstar."

"I see," Agent Johnson shook Lucifer's offered hand in a daze whilst Chloe watched from a gap in the conference room's blinds with the door ajar to hear properly. How _did_ he do it?

Maybe it was the cologne? Maybe it wasn't _cologne_ but some sort of air-borne drug? Surely not, that was a bit too contrived, even inside her thoughts it sounded insane, but there _had_ to be a logical explanation – and it wasn't animal magnetism. Chloe refused to believe that people would tell him anything just because they were attracted to him.

Not that it mattered. Results mattered; Lucifer had proven able to mind-whammy anyone, except her – thank God, and that was _just_ what she needed right now since Agent Bloody Johnson refused to talk to her.

"I've never met an FBI Agent before," Lucifer flattered as easily as he breathed. "You must be working on something terribly important to have so many of you down here."

"Ah, well," Johnson deflected hesitantly, weakening. "It is an important case, I suppose."

"It must be so dangerous, so exciting," Lucifer purred, arm wrapped about Johnson's shoulders, pulling him in companionably and conveniently drawing him away from his team, the police offers and closer to where Chloe was hiding.

Chloe noticed a few of her colleagues side-eyeing each other with looks of amusement. They knew what was going on, but Johnson wasn't one of them, and Lucifer's charisma had to be seen to be believed. Maybe they were dicks, but at least they were dicks to Johnson too.

"Yeah, it's been crazy. The Collector's struck again. My boss is breathing down my neck, I have the media hounding us like dogs and we're no closer to catching the bastard."

Was it the bad view or were Johnson's eyes glazing over, Chloe wondered in amazed disgust. Some people were far too easily taken in by Lucifer's….Luciferness.

She forced down the instinctive panic at Johnson's words.

So what if the FBI were floundering about like a fish out of the water. Lucifer had promised, and _she_ wouldn't give up, ever, not if it took her thirty years.

Please don't let it take thirty years.

"Sounds positively _awful_. Surely, you must have something, hm? Some little detail, come on, you can tell me, Johnson, it'll be just between _you_ and _me_."

Lucifer's voice was sultry, enticing, rich dark chocolate with a hint of danger.

"We're focusing on two paths," Johnson reported, he seemed to have completely surrendered to Lucifer's charms - not that Chloe was shocked; that last display had been a _masterpiece_. Even _her_ heart was fluttering like a butterfly. "There's the tech side, the emails, the video link, the whole auction really. It's all vulnerable to tracking, but Julie says he's good, Connor Brent good so unless he makes a mistake we won't get him that way."

Chloe abandoned the window to press her ear to the gap in the doorway. This was exactly what she needed to know. _TrixieTrixieTrixie._

 _"_ Then there's the psychological side." Johnson continued, "The profile's pretty solid. We know he watches his victims for at least two weeks before he takes them – and that means his job either revolves around travelling or he's got money. Julie says it's probably money as the tech he's using isn't cheap and he's switching it out regularly to prevent reverse hacking."

Clever criminals were the absolute worst, Chloe thought. Bad enough to know Trixie was in the hands of a monster in the first place; knowing he was a _smart_ criminal was an extra order of magnitude terrible.

"That narrows the suspect pool. Because the victims are all are children of influential people, and he's deliberately torturing the parents, it's likely that he's the child of someone influential himself, almost certainly abused and neglected by them, which ties in with the money angle. He's not a paedophile himself, just sadistic. He's selling them only to hurt the parents. That tells us a lot about him."

"What about the car," Lucifer questioned sharply. "How did he access a police vehicle? How was it not noticed?"

"We don't know. That's new. It may be a sign of some sort of stressor the culprit's experienced recently, or he's devolving, maybe changing methods, maybe he wants more police attention."

"And-"

"You! Stop that right now!" The voice was as unwelcome as it was familiar.

Dan.

Chloe sighed, head thumping against the wall. There went that chance. Still, it was a great deal more than she'd had before.

"Detective Douche," Lucifer greeted impatiently. "Interrupting as always. It's like you don't _want_ us to find the spawn."

"I,- er-, I have to get back to work," Johnson stuttered out, shaking off Lucifer's trick and heading back to work at a brisk trot, eyeing Lucifer uncomfortably over his shoulder. Chloe had seen that reaction many times before. Did I just- oh shit, I did.

One day, she'd work it out.

"How dare you," Dan hissed, "That's my daughter you're talking about. Mine. Of course I want to find her."

Chloe knew she should get out there and stop them fighting, but seriously, why did she have to play peacemaker? Men. They ought to tattoo their measurements onto their foreheads and save the world a load of trouble.

"Really?" Lucifer drawled, "It looks like you simply don't want _me_ to find her."

"Stop bothering the FBI and let them do their jobs," Dan returned lowly. "You aren't wanted here. Just leave before you make things worse, as always."

Oh he wasn't going to take that well, Chloe thought, too exhausted to really care right now. She needed about twelve hours sleep but knew she wouldn't be getting it. She forced herself upright, _TrixieTrixieTrixie,_ then went to separate them so they could all get back to work.

"Tell me, Douche," Lucifer growled, stalking towards Dan. The shadows suddenly seemed longer, thicker and darker. Chloe blinked and the moment was gone. Damn, she really did need to sleep and why did the department have the air conditioning on at this time of the year?

Dan retreated to the wall – and she caught the surprise on his face when the wall hit his back, as if he hadn't even realised he was backing away. The flare of annoyance in his eyes told her he _hadn't_ and the loss of face burned. She shouldn't find that amusing either…but Johnson would be warier now. She felt rather justified in a little schadenfreude.

Naturally, Lucifer had to play with his food. He trapped Dan with each hand flat against the wall to either side of his head blocking both exits. If Dan wanted to escape, he'd have to duck under – and Chloe knew he wouldn't; that was too much like surrender.

Lucifer's smile was downright satanic.

"What do you desire most?"

#


	3. Chapter 3

#

It was like watching a train wreck.

Lucifer leaned in to Dan; close enough that their breath embraced together. Chloe couldn't look away even though she knew this was a terrible, _terrible_ idea. Catastrophic. Traumatising.

Was he actually going to kiss him? That was certainly one way to…

"What do you desire most?"

 _Oh dear God no._

Dan _knew_ about Lucifer's trick. They talked about it, he'd seen it happen right before his eyes, just like Chloe – but it didn't seem to help in the slightest.

Powerless, Dan relaxed against the wall, his pupils dilating like he was on the trip of his life. There was no resistance, no hesitation - Dan just started to speak.

"I want –"

"Lucifer!"

Chloe jumped, whirling around, heart in her throat. That hadn't been her.

Lucifer's brother, of all people, commandeered the hallway, arms folded tightly across his chest, glaring at his brother in clear disapproval. How on _earth_ had he gotten in? The doors were on the other side of the bullpen!

" _Little_ brother," Lucifer greeted cheerfully, so cheerfully in fact that Chloe was instantly suspicious - she watched her errant partner with a wary eye as he released Dan from the prison of his arms and lazily strolled towards his brother, hands in his pockets, like a King condescending to meet with a peasant.

She didn't trust it; a relaxed Lucifer was a dangerous Lucifer.

Amenadiel was watching him just as carefully Chloe realised with a frown, why –

The fight.

The black eye from Amenadiel had been a surprise, but that was what you got for judging a book by its cover. Lucifer being the bad child didn't make his sibling the good one. Lucifer had refused to talk about the fight at all and she'd left in a hurry after he'd pulled a nurse uniform out from his play-wardrobe. Honestly, who had an _entire_ wardrobe for role-playing? And he'd gotten her size right, the bastard.

Obviously, they hadn't resolved their issues.

She did _not_ have time for this.

"I'm surprised to see you so soon, I'd have thought you'd have flown off immediately to tell Dad the good news," Lucifer drawled, examining his manicured nails for flaws and straightening his cuff-links.

"News?" Amenadiel questioned, posture unchanging. He radiated disdain like fire radiated heat.

"Oh, of course, I'd nearly forgotten," Lucifer chucked mockingly, " _naturally_ , you wouldn't be able to sense it. It's difficult, when you're at my level, to remember that others are so much more," Lucifer paused, " _limited_."

He relished the word like chocolate; even if Chloe had never met these two before, she would have known that they were related. Only siblings fought like that.

"Playing with mortals? I'd ask if you had reached a new low, but you and I know there is no _lower_ for you to go in Father's eyes."

Ouch. Whatever Lucifer's vaguely abusive sounding relationship with his dad was like, Chloe knew it was a highly sensitive subject. That one had to hurt.

The hallway light chose that moment to flicker out. Damned budget cuts. The shadows wavered for a moment, and Chloe had to close her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose to stave off the building headache for a little longer. The flashing light was _not_ helping.

"You-" Amenadiel breathed uneasily. "You're-"

"Back," Lucifer was viciously triumphant. "And now we have a great deal to _discuss_ about the past few months, _seraphim_."

"Chloe – a word?"

She blinked blearily at Dan who had finally managed to shake off the trance; he was avoiding looking at Lucifer so hard he might as well have been staring. Discretion was clearly the better part of valour today.

"Of course," she replied automatically, more than glad to leave the escalating family conflict, and stepped into the conference room she'd hidden in earlier.

"What's the matter?" She asked Dan.

She knew it had to be just as difficult for him as it was for her right now. Trixie was their daughter, and that was a link not easily severed no matter the tension between them, the accusations and the unhealed wounds, if he needed her of course –

"You have got to stop consorting with Lucifer."

 _of_ _course_ it would be about Lucifer wouldn't it? Not Trixie. Nope, now was clearly the time to start this old argument up again.

"You know he can trick people into talking Dan, just because he got you –''

"Got me?" Dan scoffed. "Chloe it's not _natural._ It was like I was hypnotised! _"_

"Charisma," Chloe defended tightly, and then forced herself to keep a straight face to add: "Animal magnetism."

She didn't believe that in the slightest, but Dan needed to be distracted. She had her pet theories, but they were not up for debate with Dan who really didn't need the extra ammunition against her. All it would take right now was a hint of the supernatural for Chloe to be banned from the office on forced leave and a mandatory psychological evaluation on top.

Dan would do it because he wanted her away from Lucifer, he'd convince himself – and everyone else – that it was for her own good, but he would do it. She was too emotional right now, too much stress, oh the poor dear, _women eh?_

"Animal magnetism?" Dan scowled indignantly, running a hand through his hair. "Like that would work on me."

"You've never heard him whine about missing out on an 'epic foursome.'" She included the air quotes, gracefully ignoring the aggressive hetero-normativity.

"Believe me, _something_ draws women to that man like moths to a flame."

"So that's why you're all over him," Dan declared. "Chloe, the man is _insane._ He invented the name 'Lucifer' for himself– what sort of man does that? One who wants to be feared! You should know better! We don't even know his real name."

Jealousy was an ugly thing, Chloe had heard it said before, and it had always sounded so trite – but looking at Dan now, how he paced, how his eyes were almost feverish in their intensity, she understood how the saying had come about. Jealousy _was_ an ugly thing, made worse when she knew it was fuelled by embarrassment.

Dan wasn't worried about her – not really. Else, they would have had this argument months ago after they'd first met Lucifer. He wasn't even thinking of Trixie right now either. Being married to a man ensured that you knew them, often better than you liked. Lucifer had won their little pissing match and Dan was feeling insecure. He'd been humiliated. Hearing about his supposed sexual prowess had made it worse.

Chloe was disgusted.

He couldn't 'beat' Lucifer in what he thought was a 'macho' game, so he tried to win by taking her away instead. _Get the girl._ If it was in the guise of protecting her, well it was more power to him wasn't it?

"What I do with my life is none of your business," Chloe said firmly. She wouldn't dignify those assumptions with an answer. Protesting would only make it seem like she was guilty; damn Shakespeare for that quote. Dan would think whatever made him feel better about himself, and if he didn't know her by now, well, that was why they were separated wasn't it?

"I have the right to stop Trixie associating with that psychopath."

"That psychopath," Chloe said coldly, "Is helping me find Trixie who is currently in the tender care of an _actual_ psychopath. I wouldn't care if Lucifer told me he was an axe murderer or demanded a page by page run through of the entire Kama Sutra as long as Trixie lives through this."

"I knew it! Chloe, if he's blackmailing you –"

Chloe walked out of the room.

"I am doing my job. The one Father gave me – if you recall. _Punishing_ _the_ _wicked_."

"Not on Earth though. Not _now_. You must obey; go home, Lucifer. And stay there."

They were still at it. Wonderful. Amenadiel was looking rather hunted, and Lucifer's eyes were a black hole of emotion. She gave it less than a minute before it went physical.

"Brother, if you speak to me that way again I'll smite you to kingdom come." Yep there he went. If Chloe didn't actually know Lucifer, she'd be scared of him. She knew he wasn't exactly empathetic, but he was looking at his brother like he was an ant beneath his boot. It wasn't hate; it was apathy.

Chloe could see it. Lucifer could and would kill his brother right here and now and he wouldn't care. It wouldn't be because he wanted to, or even just because he could, it would be so much less than that. I could kill you and it would mean nothing; that was what his eyes said. She didn't like seeing that. It wasn't _her_ Lucifer.

"Enough." Chloe declared flatly. "Enough." They both turned identically looks of indignation on their faces. "Amenadiel," she continued exasperated, "I'm sorry but you can't be back here. This is a police station. Visitors have to sign in at the front desk. Lucifer and I have work to do so whatever business you have, it can wait. Detective Espinoza here will see you out."

Dan stalked past her, grunting at Amenadiel to follow as he took the exit she offered. That bridge wouldn't be repaired for a long, long time, and for once, Chloe didn't care.

#

Lilith walked the earth.

It had been a while since she was last up here. She wasn't confined to Hell, but she didn't leave much either. Hell was so much more fun, and wondering around too long around mortals invited angelic interference.

Much had changed, but even more remained the same.

Humans were so… human. It baffled her how they could scurry about their mayfly lives with so little understanding of the world around them. They preached civility and progress and they actually _believed_ that they were somehow better than those who had come before.

Humans. Blegh. Never had she been so glad that she refused Adam than when she looked about her. To think that all those years ago she had actually been one of this low species.

How embarrassing.

"Lilith?"

Lilith looked up from the map spread out on the table before her. Mazikeen was crossing off another state with a neat 'X' as another one of the Lilim swiftly reported in before winging away again. Being ordered into mortal guise meant that most of the Lilim had chosen to become invisible so as to be able to use their wings.

Lilith didn't need to create a new form of course, she had been mortal once and her form remained with her as perfect as the day it had been Created.

"Yes?"

"That was the last state," Mazikeen said, frowning. "I'll report to Lucifer. Reorganise to search the surrounding oceans and then do a second sweep. If you have no new orders, broaden the search."

"You're loving the chance to give me orders aren't you?"

"So much," Mazikeen replied shamelessly, folding up one of the maps with brisk movements and tucking it away.

"Lucifer's base is a club called Lux. Report in three hours no matter what."

"Fine. Why is the mortal so important anyway?"

"She's important because Lucifer says she is important," Mazikeen said mildly. "Are you questioning your lord?"

"Of course not," Lilith replied, faking chastisement and waving as Mazikeen vanished into the shadows. "Lamia!"

"Yes?" Lamia had chosen to take a mortal form – a brunette with green eyes.

"Take your squad and investigate this mortal girl, and investigate what Lucifer has been doing up here while you're at it. Start at the nightclub called Lux." Then, to cover her bases, she added;

"Understanding more of the situation will help us locate the mortal for our lord."

"Very well." Lamia didn't question her orders – making her a good squad leader and ensuring she was never promoted further.

Lilith hummed happily as she watched four of her best disappear. She would not be left behind again. If Lucifer wanted this child, Lilith would find her, but she'd never been one to let an opportunity slip past her either.

#

Eventually kicked out of the office with orders not to return for at least six hours, the last thing Chloe wanted to see when she got home was Mazikeen, sitting on her couch like she _hadn't_ just broken in and helped herself to Chloe's secret stash of good coffee and the really good chocolate.

"Report, Maze," Lucifer commanded the instant he saw her – and there was no doubt it _was_ a command. Chloe half expected Maze to slap him for it – but she only nodded.

Lucifer wouldn't be here, but someone had decided that she wasn't fit to drive since she'd been at the station all night, and it had been a choice of Dan or Lucifer to drive her home in the pre-dawn light.

Chloe could pick her battles too. She was pretty sure Lucifer would have tossed Dan out the window if he'd seriously tried to come near her right now.

He seemed happy to blame Dan, and it reassured Chloe that she wasn't the only one to think he wasn't taking his responsibilities seriously enough. Lucifer had never once been late in the months she'd known him.

Apparently, the Devil was always on time.

"Sir, the Lilim have searched the entire continent, with no sign of Trixie."

"I expected as much after Amenadiel dropped by," Lucifer replied, sitting on Chloe's tired armchair like it was a throne. All he needed was a white cat.

"What do you mean they searched the entire continent?" Chloe interrupted, she had no patience left whatsoever.

"Well I've been busy my dear," Lucifer smiled.

Chloe resisted the urge to strangle him but it was a near thing.

Lucifer smiled wider, like he knew what she'd been thinking. _Go ahead,_ his smiled said, _play with me. You'll like it._

She raised an eyebrow and he caved, looking away with a pout.

"Mazikeen contacted an Archduke of Hell, Lilith, who summoned her subordinates, the Lilim, and they've spent the past," he checked his watch – a brand so expensive they didn't need to put their name on it – "two hours, searching."

Chloe chose to interpret that as Lucifer calling on his mafia-esque godfather business network to out the word out and spread feelers. If the boss was called Lucifer, it made sense that he organised his ranks like they were really from Hell. Admittedly that meant the shady side of his business was much larger and much more entrenched than she liked to think about, but whatever worked.

She'd worry about ethics later.

"Amenadiel?" Mazikeen questioned.

"He visited just in time to stop me from tempting Detective Douche."

"Convenient."

"Highly."

"You think your brother is involved in this?" Chloe demanded, outraged.

"Naturally. His orders to get me to return to Hell are absolute, Detective, he wouldn't quibble over the morality of his methods. It's just not in his nature."

"Do you have any evidence for this?"

"None that your corrupt little organisation will accept."

Chloe groaned, hands falling into her head. She had a handful of hours before the Fed technical whatever arrived to bug her phone before the Collector contacted her and she really did need some sleep before then if she wanted to think through her headache and navigate the inter-agency politics. She didn't have time for Lucifer's family issues.

"But it's enough for the Hellhounds."

#


	4. Chapter 4

#

If Lucifer was not so bloody useful, and the only person willing to work with her, Chloe would never put up with his shit.

"I don't need a bodyguard," she repeated for the fifth time enunciating her words slowly and clearly, in the vague hope it was just a communication problem rather than Lucifer being Lucifer.

"Darling," Lucifer chided, "I have known many, _many_ men like this Collector. He _enjoys_ your suffering, thus, he will be watching somehow. And probably masturbating to the view," Lucifer added so matter of fact that she had to do a double take. Yep, he had really just said that. Her mind quivered, threatening to crack before she firmly repressed the imagery.

Did Not Happen.

"Therefore, my dear," Lucifer chirped, crossing his legs as daintily as you please, as if he hadn't just creeped her the fuck out, "I am sleeping on this couch."

He straightened, suddenly on point like a dog. "Unless," he purred, "you'll let me – "

"- _Never_ ," she hissed vehemently, rebooting. Whenever Lucifer got that look in his eye – the full on come-hither bedroom eyes – fifty times a day, him saying something vastly inappropriate was sure to follow.

Chloe had learned to head him off before it got to the point where she wanted to die of utter mortification.

"It'll help you sleep," Lucifer wheedled with a grin. "Release all that tension…"

"No." Chloe replied waspishly, beginning to feel insulted by his antics. Did he really think she would – whilst Trixie was – how could he – No. Chloe sighed.

No Lucifer didn't think she would actually sleep with him right now. He was just trying to cheer her up in typical Lucifer fashion. Of course, if she said yes, he wouldn't bat an eyelid, but he wasn't being serious – so she let it go.

"Not in your wildest dreams," she continued brusquely. Was it worth shoving him out the door? It was almost dawn as it was. She really should – give Lucifer an inch and he'd take a mile – but it was so much effort. She'd never known a grown man who could _whine_ like Lucifer could. Shoving him out the door wouldn't stop him from breaking back in anyway, no matter how satisfying giving him the boot would feel.

"Oh but Darling," she cursed herself as she recognised the opening she'd given.

"In my dreams," he rose from the couch, sauntering up to her, "You're much more _flexible_."

Morally or physically, she wondered idly, before becoming distracted with thoughts of the gym. In a normal week, she went at least twice. It didn't feel right to do anything but work with Trixie missing, but she wasn't allowed back into the station before noon anyway and –

"You ride me from dusk to dawn, those gorgeous thighs-"

There was a spin-cycle class at eleven wasn't there? That could be just what she needed –

"I'd eat you out for hours, you'd be blind with ecstasy - you wouldn't believe the things I can do with my tongue, but I'd devour you until you converted –'

Going to the gym would mean she wouldn't have time for breakfast, she'd be cutting her sleep time down to five hours as it was, but there was that lovely little place on the corner that did amazing espresso and pancakes that she could just devour. She could still make the station for half twelve or so – and not turning up at the earliest possible time that she was allowed might reassure everyone that she wasn't insane -

"I'd _worship_ your breasts, darling, a little nibble and you'd howl –'

Mazikeen would be back with the sniffer dogs Lucifer had gotten his hands on somehow by then, so after she got kicked out again they could try the school, see if there was a trail –

Decided, Chloe turned back to Lucifer.

"You're right," she said firmly.

Lucifer looked startled. "I am? I mean of course I'm right. I knew you couldn't resist forever," he smirked, bedroom eyes at maximum power, and her brain – against her will – decided to play a montage of all the times she'd seen him naked on a constant feed.

"It does make sense for you to spend a few hours resting here," Chloe continued, ignoring her traitorous brain. Yes, Lucifer was pretty. No, this wasn't the time and it would never be the time. Lucifer was the quintessential bad boy. The original bad boy if he had anything to say about it. The smirk on his face said it all.

"I'll fetch you a blanket and pillow and make up the couch for you. We'll be able to make an early start if you're already here." Moreover, he'd probably make her breakfast if he were here. Golden lining and it'd save time.

Lucifer looked like she'd kicked his puppy.

"But, _Detective."_

God but he could whinge. Chloe turned her back – if she ignored him, he'd stop crying for attention – to fetch a spare sheet and blankets.

#

Lucifer stared at the door. The _closed_ bedroom door.

"Tease," he accused the wooden panelling mournfully. That had _not_ gone to plan.

It was almost like Chloe hadn't even heard a word he was saying! His bedroom voice, frequently described to him as honeyed steel, sultry, alluring, irresistible, and fuck me now, had never failed him before.

It shouldn't surprise him that Chloe was the exception, once again. The freak.

Sleep was an indulgence, and whilst five in the morning was about the time that he normally dropped off after he'd worn out his evening's entertainment, he didn't feel like sleeping right now. There was too much to think about.

In lieu of rest he spent the early hours poking through all of Chloe's belongings, even sliding into the bedroom – she'd attempted to barricade the door, how sweet – to rummage through her drawers, occasionally replying to Mazikeen's texts.

He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, an altar, a family photo with one parent conveniently spouting a tail, some pagan worship or other evidence of her inhumanity. He'd know it when he saw it.

The sex toys were truly disappointing– a bullet vibrator - how _pedestrian._ Only one kind of lube, poor woman, what _had_ she been doing? Not even a set of handcuffs in the toy box and he _knew_ she had access to those. Though it wasn't surprising that Detective Douche was uninspiring in the bedroom. Chloe _needed_ him, clearly. It was his _civic duty_ to show her how to do it properly.

Oh _hello_ nurse, he thought, holding up a set of lingerie to the moonlight. That was more like it. It was new – price tag still attached. Better taste than the Detective usually showed, and it was red, so she must have bought it for him. He preened. He _was_ affecting her even if she was giving him blue balls so badly that they needed to invent a new shade of blue.

He'd got her measurements right too. Maybe if he left these out with a nice pair of fuck-me heels, she'd get the hint?

 _"No security? Awesome. We're the first here too. Get the camera set up!"_

Lucifer turned, abandoning the bedroom to mosey towards the front door. He'd known _someone_ would turn up. He knew what damned humans liked.

Two souls outside. Tainted but not yet condemned. So it wasn't the miscreant he was looking for. Pity.

 _"Not there! She'll shut the door in our face before it's open. Aim for the angle between door and wall, you have a second to get our money shot."_

Reporters.

Still, waste not want not. He'd been getting bored anyway.

Throwing open the door with a smile, Lucifer stepped outside to play.

#

"Why is there a bra on that bush?" Chloe asked, dreading the answer, as she stomped her shoes on. "And is that a _camera?"_

Lucifer _had_ cooked breakfast, but the barricade on her door was not in the same order she'd put it in last night. Her mood was therefore neutral. She didn't see how he could have possibly done it, the chair crashing would have woken her up, but the lingerie she'd bought in her rebound phase didn't end up lying on the foot of her bed by itself did it?

"Oh, that was Millie's."

"Millie," Chloe repeated dully eyes fixed on the camera. She _despised_ the entire plague of reports. If anyone _deserved_ Lucifer inflicted on them…

"Yes, she works for the Star, but I convinced her she and her partner had better things to do that wait to ambush you this morning."

Chloe automatically filtered that through her Lucifer-Bullshit meter.

"Oh my _god,_ did you have _sex_ on my lawn?"

"Of course not Detective," Lucifer said, as offended as a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

She sighed; she was being ridiculous even Lucifer –

"I had sex on the couch and then I gave her Detective Douche's address."

"I am going _to shoot you."_

"Oh _yes please."_

#

"Ms Decker! I'm glad to see you made it unscathed. The news got leaked to the press, I was about to send a squad car over to help."

"Lucifer scared them off," Chloe said mildly. "I was fine."

Agent Johnson side-eyed Lucifer with caution. She approved. Lucifer was far too cheerful on five hours sleep. It was probably the -

Did. Not. Happen.

"Right, well we'd like to do a press conference. Agent Price has confirmed a psychological profile."

Chloe was glad that he wasn't treating her with kid gloves.

"He needs to see me suffer, right? That's how he gets off?"

Johnson blinked. "Yes, well, that's certainly the gist of it. The victims whose parents held a press conference always get the full seventy-two hours. Have you worked with a dedicated psych team before? They're very good at closing cases."

Chloe didn't look at Lucifer. His records only went back five years. He didn't need the attention - although how he'd diagnosed a man he'd never met so accurately she didn't know. Maybe he'd been a psychiatrist six years ago? It might explain how he manipulated people so easily. Whatever. If she couldn't work it out, she wasn't going to give the FBI the chance either.

"Something like that. Where do you need me?"

#

The press conference was…bad.

She was hurt, and like a wounded animal, she wanted to hide, curl up and strike at anyone who came near her – but it was for Trixie. She could beg for Trixie, she could let Dan hold her on camera and pretend for Trixie. And she had.

She'd tried to cry too, but the tears wouldn't come. She felt wrung out, fragile, like if she started she'd never stop and yet inside there was a howling _ragegrieffirebloodhatepain_ that wouldn't stop _screaming._

Lucifer had seen it in her.

She'd barely tensed to tear a strip of Dan and his _disappointed in you_ look or the so helpful media-relations-consultant whose name she'd already forgotten. She didn't need a fucking _tissue_ she needed a shot of whisky, a dull rusty spoon and the Collector's balls sautéed _in situ_ and stuffed down his bleeding gullet.

She needed Trixie in her arms, but she wasn't there. She might _never_ be there.

"Time for a break I think," Lucifer murmured. "A bit of fresh air. We'll just be outside."

He'd whisked her outside the murmuring ranks of uniforms and into his car, speeding away at double the limits to Trixie's school and neatly avoiding a post-conference discussion and Dan and the counsellor and the ranks of concerned strangers and another chat about strangers in Trixie's life.

It was barely one, the playground was empty; Chloe had never been so glad to see Mazikeen in all her life.

"You call _those_ Hellhounds?" Chloe snorted, eyeing the set of three absolutely _adorable_ golden retrievers who as one bounded up to Lucifer to leave a hilarious amount of hair over his suit as they barked a welcome, licking his hands and jumping up demanding a fuss.

"You see only what you want to see," Lucifer rolled his eyes, fastidiously brushing down his trousers even as he snuck a few stealthy ear-scratches for the dogs. The Adversary. Yeah right. "Any trouble?"

"No, sir," Mazikeen reported – the happiest Chloe had ever seen her. "Lilith will report directly when she's done."

One day, Chloe would have to investigate Lucifer's shadowy business. But not today.

"Trixie was waiting over there," Chloe pointed out the grey pillar at the foot of the stairs. She'd read the report a dozen times but she hadn't dared return to the scene. It was Trixie's school, not a _scene._ Or it wasn't supposed to be. It was _wrong._

"Behind! Beside! Before!" Lucifer clapped once and the dog's heads swung around to face him – and they all trotted over and sat at his feet in perfect unison.

 _Weird._

Were they bigger? Nope, just Lucifer's normal, reality bending, _normal,_ trick or something.

"Odd choice of names," Chloe said.

"Not really," Maze replied. "They're hellhounds. It's their job to hunt down the runners. Look behind you, look beside you, look before you." It had an odd intonation when Mazikeen said it like that. Almost as if it were a nursery rhyme.

"Was that supposed to make sense?"

"Just watch," Maze replied.

"Thank you for helping," Chloe added as the dogs obediently circled the stone Trixie had last sat on – a green t-shirt that Chloe had pulled out of the laundry basket to help them get the scent.

"My pleasure," Mazikeen appeared unnaturally cheerful. "I haven't seen Lucifer this angry in decades. I can't wait to see what he does to this sinner when we find him."

Chloe resolved not to touch that one with a ten foot pole.

Behind, she thought it was, sat up and _howled._ The sound was chilling. They were dogs – but that howl felt wild, primal, more like a wolf than a dog. Beside and Before took up the howl which really only made it worse- and then they were hurtling along towards one end of the parking lot, sniffing at a bare patch of tarmac.

Trixie had gotten into a car though. Did the scent cut out there?

"They track souls," Lucifer reappeared at her elbow, "They don't rely on the messy human stuff. They're scenting her spirit."

Well that made perfect sense didn't it? Chloe was about to let loose – they were wasting _time –_ when the dogs, and she really felt she ought to call them hounds for some reason, howled once more – a short sharp call.

Like a hunting horn.

Then they were off. They had four legs but, even so, they were _fast._

"I'm sorry it's not a proper Hunt," Lucifer said mournfully as they peeled off and sprinted down the road – unconstrained by leash or collar. "Bringing the rest of the Wild Hunt topside would have caused a bit too much of a fuss Upstairs. I can get away with a lot since Amenadiel broke Dad's rules first – but not that. Prophecies, you understand."

"They'll get run over!" Chloe shouted over him as the hounds – cute and adorable if creepy - ran straight for the main road. "Lucifer! Stop them! Mazikeen! Do something!"

"They have but one Master," Mazikeen told her, smiling warmly as if nothing was wrong. "They won't heed orders from me."

Chloe turned to Lucifer, hands on hips.

"They'll be fine Detective," Lucifer forestalled her, rolling his eyes and strolling after his wayward hounds. "They're Hellhounds, not Chihuahuas. Come alone, my dear, we don't want to lose them do we?"

#

Lamia exited the public library in the guise of a young female in the appropriate dress for this day and age.

Humans had always been so creative; the library may yet be their best invention. A place to share knowledge freely, it had taken the work of a moment on their computers – where a kind young man had helped her adapt to the new model – to find the information Lilith sought.

Their target was the child of Lucifer's current lover and her mortal husband or so it was to be assumed. Their lord never took an interest in children – the ones that came to Hell were all strange, vile creatures.

Yet, this one, Lucifer would raise Hell for.

Thus, Lamia concluded easily - logic taking her from one point to the next in an orderly fashion - this child was unique.

Unique in Lucifer's affections could only mean one thing.

Lilith was not going to like this. She wasn't going to like it at all.

#

Chloe didn't have the breath to argue. She kept in shape at the gym – but thank god, she'd skipped it this morning. She needed all her energy to keep pace with the hounds as they barrelled over people, roads, signs, buggies, stopping only to howl in apparent pleasure before running once more.

It was a bad day to be manning the desk at the station that was for sure.

But Lucifer had some crazy connections – for the hounds, lovely, beautiful, perfect creatures that they were – had stopped.

They were surrounding a police car. _The_ police car, Chloe knew it instantly. This was the one Trixie had climbed into thinking that it was her dad.

"No blood," Lucifer reported unhelpfully. With his hands cupped to the glass. "Your tracker thing has been ripped out though."

"We need to call it in, get forensics," Chloe said, pulling out her phone. This was a solid lead at last.

"Why?" Mazikeen asked. "They only stopped here, the hounds will take us to her directly."

"Or they should," Lucifer indicated the animals with a frown. All three were circling the car with nose to the ground, and if Chloe were a more suspicious person, she would say that they appeared to be searching in a grid like formation.

Beside whimpered, and turned to Lucifer, lying down and crawling on his belly to whine at his feet, nudging expensive leather with his nose.

"You've lost her?" Lucifer stated coldly.

The dogs looked _ashamed._

"Impossible," Mazikeen replied flatly. "Hellhounds don't _lose_ their prey."

"They can," Lucifer replied, sharing a meaningful look with Mazikeen that Chloe ignored as she dialled the station, "with a little intervention." His gaze flickered skywards.

#


	5. Chapter 5

#

"The investigation is on-going, Ms. Decker. You know the rules."

"I found the car, remember." Chloe parried, holding her nerve. "All I am asking for is a little update. It's not much to ask for, considering." The Agent spared a glance towards Lucifer who was helpfully being intimidating from behind Chloe and she ruthlessly pressed her advantage. Why other people were scared of Lucifer she couldn't fathom, but she'd use it anyway.

"I'm not interfering with your investigation. I don't bother your people; I don't make mistakes in front of the press, I am demonstrably being _helpful_ to you. A little information would go a long way, and you _know_ you need all the help you can get here. I don't need to officially work with you to be useful. There's no disadvantage to you in helping me," Chloe pointed out as reasonably as she could.

Johnson was beginning to look harried, whether it was from Chloe's attack of logic or Lucifer's looming presence, she neither knew nor cared. She wanted to scream _she's my daughter, you bastard_ but an emotional plea would never work.

"My word on the matter is final. Thank you for bringing the evidence to our attention. Our forensic teaming is analysing it as we speak. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Please wait here and Julie will walk you through what she's going to do with your phone."

"She can have it now, I can leave it here. " Chloe said. "And then I can go along with you."

"I'm afraid she's dealing with another avenue of investigation at the moment. But there will be plenty of time to set the trap, I promise. Please be patient. You know how this works."

Chloe didn't bother replying.

She turned to Lucifer.

"Lucifer, I need a favour." She cringed slightly at the wording, but it was too late to take it back. Reluctantly she acknowledged that it might be time to admit how much she owed him for his help so far. If Lucifer had been another cop – not that any were currently talking to her - she wouldn't have batted an eye. You did favours for friends without another thought. Lucifer, however, was not a cop, and he meant something else entirely when he said favour.

Lucifer, naturally, glowed with delight. He was currently sitting in her chair at her desk, but at her utterance of that cursed word, he stood so that he could take one of her hands in his and look her in the eye.

"A favour? Why _of course,_ Detective. I mean you practically already owe me your soul –'

"Excellent," Chloe said, interrupting him before he could get started and firmly taking her hand back, resisting the urge to wipe it on her trousers because she wasn't actually five. "I need a hacker. A really good one."

Lucifer smirked. "Deal."

#

"My Lord!" A demon squeaked as Lucifer landed in Hell – flying so fast that it looked like teleportation to those with lesser senses. "You have returned!"

Lucifer prowled past the snivelling creature, tucking his wings back with timeless grace. There was work to be done. Angelic interference –Amenadiel would pay – meant that Lucifer was restricted to cumbersome human methods of finding the spawn, but find her he would. No one stole from _him._

Five years was a lot of time to adjust, but Chloe had a better grasp on this detective business. With their combined skills and resources, Lucifer knew he'd be able to keep his word.

Chloe needed a hacker – Lucifer would provide.

He could name three people who owed him Favours after Lucifer had fixed their problems– a gambling debt, an affair and a new identity – who were supposed to be good with computers, but Lucifer didn't know _how_ good they were. He could go and ask of course, and test, but that was just so _inefficient_ when he knew the Name of someone with the skills he needed and had much easier ways to command their loyalty that a debt.

'Connor Brent good' the Agent had said.

 _Done_ , Lucifer thought. If Brent had come to Hell then he belonged to Lucifer. End of.

"You there," Lucifer snapped, clicking his fingers in summoning as he arrived at the entrance of the First Circle.

"Sire?" The guard who swiftly dropped to his knees – twelve foot tall with red curled horns as if a goat reference would actually flatter Lucifer - enquired delicately. Always wise to be cautious when the Devil called – even if you were one of his demons.

"The records for this Circle?"

"If you'll come this way sir, the Archives are at the end," the demon replied diffidently. He managed to make twelve feet of monstrosity look meek as he rose and shuffled along three steps behind Lucifer who led the way even when – especially when – he didn't know where he was going. The First Circle rarely required his personal attention.

Perhaps he ought to redecorate, Lucifer mused as he passed through the lightest punishment zone, a spider web of branching corridors with numerous doors, all with a name and a date on in neatly printed text. It had been a few centuries since Dante, after all, and whilst there was something to be said for the classic style, his tastes had evolved a great deal in the previous five years.

Perhaps glass and metal? Or, he thought gleefully, white and gold. That would be _fun._ That would show mortals the dangers of preconceived notions. He could even make the Gates gold and stick a cherub statue on top.

Humans had a nasty habit of breeding like rabbits so there were literally tonnes of names. Thankfully, Lucifer was an archangel, and even paperwork – Heaven's invention, the bureaucratic bastards – would submit to his will.

Or it would, if Lucifer hadn't rounded up a few enterprising souls to introduce computers Downstairs just so that he didn't have to play their game.

A quick search of the Registry found two million seven hundred and sixty five thousand names who died in the year two thousand and eleven Anno Domini. Narrowing it down through the various ingenious filters took about five minutes, he got it down to the tens of thousands just by remembering the country-filter and then further down when he went by state.

Such were the perks of having several billion souls really very eager to be data entry clerks for the rest of eternity instead of their real Judgement. Lucifer was _such_ a merciful lord really.

Name: Connor Brent

Physical Age: 22

Number of Rebirth's: 18

Sins: 5206

Judgement: 5206 Years, C1.

Elapsed: 5.189 Years

Reassessment: 2600.5 Years.

Boring.

Lucifer scrolled past the summary to click on the more detailed list extracted from the Scales. Nope, no _interesting_ sins, just the bog standard. Lying, stealing and blasphemy. The only page Lucifer actually needed was the details of Brent's placement. Hell expanded exponentially, each soul powering the place just a little more. Naturally, it made organising it all a right pain. Maybe he _wouldn't_ redecorate. At least the current system worked.

Circle: 1

Degree: 52-PZ8VH

Arc Minute: 37-AF8BC

Arc Second: 17-ZR2Y76B

Milliar Second: 59-65PG2E

Micro Arc Second: 28-CH7YO0A1

Orientating himself in a nanosecond, Lucifer flew and landed in Connor Brent's own private Hell.

The First Circle had been one of Lucifer's innumerable attempts to change the popular opinion of him. A nice little bit of PR. How could he get the blame when he let the Damned invent their torment themselves? Genius!

It hadn't worked of course.

Still, it gave Lucifer some small satisfaction to see a job well done, and it had been a massive saving on personnel.

Brent's Hell appeared to be the Neolithic era. How nostalgic.

"Who are you?"

Lucifer turned, eyeing the withering mortal soul doubtfully. He clutched a flint knife and had the gaunt look of surviving on the edge of starvation for decades. His skin was leather and utterly filthy and he was dressed in the poorly cured skins of some unfortunate creature. He also _reeked to high heaven._ A marvellous saying, that. Humans.

"My name is Lucifer," The Devil said mildly, with a genial smile on his face.

The Name reverberated around the sliver of a dimension like the clashing of cymbals: It made the colours brighter, the sounds louder, and the shadows longer.

Brent, at least, showed the sense to believe him instantly. Lucifer had grown so used to the amused disdain of the humans on Earth when they heard his name that watching the lad drop to his knees, clutching at his bleeding eardrums was very refreshing indeed.

Why, Lucifer was starting to feel fond of the fellow already.

"Oh that's _much_ better. You will be an excellent example for Chloe," Lucifer beamed, patting Brent on the head. "Good mortal."

"Erm, thank you? Sir? My Lord? Mr. Devil?" Brent stuttered nervously, eyes rolling up in his head to keep sight of Lucifer's hand, ruffling his hair.

"Enjoying Hell?" Lucifer asked politely, stepping away and clapping his hands to summon a few minor imps. Bit of a failed experiment, imps, but once he'd Created the poor buggers he felt responsible for them and had had to find them jobs instead of just abandoning them like _Someone_ he could name. Or Name, as it was, down here.

"Not really?" Brent asked. "Although I'm sure it could be much worse, I like it as it is actually. It's perfect, I mean awful? Yes I hate it, please leave me here." Brent edged away from the imps awkwardly as one of the little blue ones nearly beheaded him with the table it was carrying, invisible under it's mass.

"Given our delightful surroundings," Lucifer said, flouncing into the elaborately carved chair the imp laid out for him and waving a proprietary hand to encompass the ancient forest surroundings, "I assume in life you were rather fond of modern conveniences? Tea?"

"Oh _god_ yes." Brent cried, falling into the opposite chair with an expression of wonder.

Lucifer pursed his lips.

"I mean, yes please? I absolutely didn't say the G-word, sir, and if I did I didn't mean it like that?"

Lucifer picked up the teapot just deposited by yet another imp. "I'll be mother shall I?" He smiled.

Brent swallowed a scream of terrified babbling, as grey as ash he shivered on his chair – nowhere near as fine as Lucifer's own, and stared at the swiftly appearing tablecloth, fine porcelain tea set and finger sandwiches as imps ran to and from a shadowy door that hadn't existed five seconds ago.

"Is this some new torture?" He whispered. "Am I not allowed to eat? Will it turn to dust in my mouth?"

"Do you want it to?" Lucifer asked leaning forward with wide eyes.

"No?" Brent replied. "Of course I don't, I'm _starving_ but – '

Lucifer sighed, sitting back radiating disappointment. "But this is Hell. Eugh. _Humans."_

Brent wasn't stupid, quite the opposite in fact; he drank his tea in silence, savouring every sip as he watched his host for any sign of danger. He'd lost count of the time he'd spent eking out some form of survival in this damned place. It had been months since he'd last managed fire and he hadn't spoken to anyone since the day he died.

Devil or no devil, at least he was someone to _talk_ to. It would almost be worth being whipped or whatever else Satan had in mind as long as he _stayed._

If he were still alive, his vocal cords would have rusted from disuse, as he was dead, his soul alone felt the pain of complete isolation. He hadn't exactly been a social man, not offline anyway, but he hadn't realised how much he'd miss people when all he had for company was the mud and the bugs. He shuddered. Who knew it was possible for them to grow so big? To say nothing of the toadstools.

"This isn't your doing then?" Brent ventured softly, examining Lucifer over the rim of his cup, craving conversation like air and having no idea where to start. Church had never covered this.

"Do you think I have _time?"_ Lucifer scoffed. "Millions of you die every day, and most of you come to me. If I Judged everybody individually I'd run out of eternity."

"Delegation?" Brent offered, slowly reaching for the plate of sandwiches as if he'd scare them off with a sudden movement. He still watched Lucifer though, just in case.

"And give that sort of power to a demon? No, it's automated."

"You have machines here?" The longing in his voice was unmistakable. Right now the highest bit of tech he owned was a sharpened stick. He hadn't even _seen_ metal yet.

"In the main Realm, yes, of course, how else would I sort you all out? You'd have been tapped for maintenance duties in another decade or so, and then you're file would have appeared on my desk."

"I would have been…?" The thought of an entire decade spent here in this hell – or Hell – was soul crushing. He could barely believe that this conversation was happening, he'd never been big on faith. And yet why use the conditional perfect tense unless the situation was changing? But hope was a cruel mistress.

"I have a proposition for you, Mr. Brent."

"Anything to get out of here," Brent promised fervently, sneaking another dozen finger sandwiches and sliding eleven of them under his rag of a jacket.

"Yes," Lucifer took a genteel sip, "Yes, I rather thought you might say that."

#

The station went absolutely silent when the woman strode in.

She was beautiful, Chloe thought unwillingly, beautiful in the way only airbrushing was supposed to be able to achieve. It was impossible not to notice her.

She was six feet, easily, wearing a red dress that just about covered her hips and breasts and she had the kind of long flowing blonde hair that just dared the wind to tangle it. Chloe glanced down at her feet, having done the inevitable once over, the woman was wearing sensible shoes, fashionable to be sure, but not the ridiculously impractical high heel she'd half expected. You could run in those.

Good choice.

"Where's Lucifer?" She demanded, surveying the scurrying station with an imperious eye.

Oh great, Chloe thought, her opinion of the other woman taking a guilty nosedive. One of _them._

Lucifer's work with Chloe did not go unnoticed by his hoard of rabid fans. When they wanted a second – _ninth, darling, really what has Dan done to you –_ round they knew they could find him at the precinct. Great, just great, she hoped understanding Lucifer's crazy wasn't an early warning sign for her own sanity.

The not-so-subtle glances in her direction – Chloe sunk in her chair to no avail, her colleagues were all traitors – ensured that Lucifer's latest one night stand easily picked her out of the crowd.

"You!" She looked down her perfectly straight nose, pursing her bow shaped lips – matching lipstick, naturally – in some twisted emotion. It didn't detract from her looks at all.

"So," the woman spat, eyes sparking with incandescent rage. "You are the mother of Lucifer's child?"

#


	6. Chapter 6

#

"So," Conner ventured after Lucifer had finished his cup of tea. "Do I sign a contract in blood or something?"

Lucifer sighed. "You don't have any blood, let alone hands. How do you expect to sign anything?"

Conner blinked, and cautiously glanced down at himself. Yep, still got a body.

"I don't?"

"You are in Hell," Lucifer leaned forward across the table speaking slowly. The weight of his presence made Conner deeply uncomfortable. He was too aware of Lucifer's… species. It pushed against him like a wave of force. He couldn't _not_ know that he stood before the Devil. It was like the elephant in the room, except one that you could physically feel. His instincts wouldn't shut up, and the primal fight or flight response that had been highly developed in this part of Hell were calling for all hands to battle stations. _The Adversary._

Except they were sitting down for afternoon tea.

Was Lucifer being deliberately off-putting?

"Your body is either ashes or food for the worms."

Actually, yeah, he probably was.

"But-"

"Are you questioning me?"

"No sir," Conner replied instantly. Lucifer looked calm sure, but a lifetime of knowing that the Devil is the ultimate evil played havoc with your mind when you finally met the guy.

He'd spent years here in this never-ending forest. He felt hunger when he couldn't find any food, thirst when there was no water, sickness when he ate something wrong and he certainly bled when injured. He _felt_ real.

"You are a soul, you have a body," Lucifer explained disinterestedly, eyes roaming the surroundings. "Since your soul is naked down here, we'll seal the deal with a kiss," he made a dismissive hand gesture. "We don't need intermediaries."

Erm. Oddly enough, Conner's first thought was _but I'm not gay._ Wisely, he realised that that didn't matter in the slightest and he didn't have the guts to tell the Devil 'no' anyway. The second thought was equally distracting.

Life. A second chance. Resurrection. It was a hope even more intangible than a dream. Ever since he'd woken up here, he'd prayed for forgiveness, he'd begged, he'd offered _anything._ All for nothing but more silence and more suffering. Maybe he did deserve this, he admitted he'd broken a few of the church's rules – but if religion was _true_ why hadn't there been _proof?_ Faith? How was anyone to take it on _faith._ If someone had just _said_ that if you didn't obey you'd go to Hell his entire life would have been different! The world would have been different! Why was the church not the government if it was all real?

It wasn't fair.

And then the Devil prowled in, with this Faustian bargain. It was too good to be true, Conner knew that, but he was already in Hell, he'd been Judged and Sentenced – what did it matter anymore? He was already dead. But god oh god did he want to live.

"What is it you want me to do?"

Havoc and chaos probably, Conner thought, the Devil's work and all that. Bringing down governments and protecting the Antichrist and waving cyber warfare – which admittedly might be kind of fun …

"Rescue." Lucifer said quietly. "A girl has been kidnapped. Beatrice Decker. You will put your skills to use and find her for me, alive."

Conner swallowed, his imagination flat lining. That did _not_ seem like the Devils usual work. But he was _not_ going to ask. He knew trouble when he saw it.

"And if I fail?" He asked quietly because apparently Hell wasn't enough for his masochistic tendencies. "If she dies? Or if I can't find her? You must have supernatural ways of finding people…"

Lucifer's eyes flared red.

"Sure," Conner whispered, cringing in his seat. "Sure thing, boss, whatever you want OK? I'll definitely find her, I swear on my life."

" _Precisely_." Lucifer smiled, the hellish light fading from his gaze. "In return, you may live a mortal life once more, after I have the girl."

"For how long?" Conner wasn't paranoid exactly, but well, Hell. He really didn't want to come back. He needed at least twenty years of being a white-hat; good deeds only under his belt before he could think of being Judged a second time. He flinched away from the memory.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Until you die a mortal death of course. I don't renege on a deal."

"You won't ah, kill me once I'm no longer useful?"

"Only if you annoy me."

"OK." Conner stopped asking questions immediately. "Deal, done, agreed, _yes_ , when do I start?"

Lucifer beamed at him. "That's the spirit!"

Then he reached over the table, grabbed Connor by the back of his neck and dragged him down for a kiss. Conner felt it all the way through him, a wave of burning heat that scorched every particle, as Lucifer's tongue dove into his mouth, licking into him and sizzling with every pass.

He felt Lucifer's offer and his own acceptance, swirl around his being, the words like a physical weight as they etched themselves onto his soul. Branding him. It didn't hurt per se, but it was impossible to ignore. It would always be there.

The clash of cymbals reverberated around them, the scent of freshly mown grass filling the air as he tried and failed to breathe around Lucifer's all consuming presence. There was the sound of birdsong; he felt the confusing heady rush of a first crush and the warmth of a mother's hug. Most of all, he felt the Light.

It wasn't just a kiss; it was an out of body experience.

He was falling, falling _upwards._ It wasn't flying, no it was definitely falling, just up and up and up – Conner couldn't breath. Lucifer was still kissing him and Conner didn't even realise he was eagerly returning it he was so consumed with the sensations within.

When Lucifer finally released him, breathing untouched and unbearably smug with himself, Conner was standing in the middle of a …club? He looked around wildly; forcing himself to let go from the octopus-grip, he'd somehow had on Lucifer, patting himself down. He was in the clothes he'd died in, minus the bloodstains.

"I'm alive."

Bloody Hell. He gasped air like he'd just run a marathon. Real air! And no more fucking forest!

"Well of course you're alive. I did promise didn't I? That didn't take very long at all now did it? Why He needed three days, I'll never know. Now I've held up my end of the bargain – time for you to do yours. Chop chop."

"Right, yeah, sure," Conner agreed, feeling dazed. Life was flooding through him and the last thing he wanted to do was sit at a computer. He wanted to run, to eat, to drink, to fuck, to sleep, to fight, to howl.

"Mmm," Lucifer eyed him with interest as if he knew what he was thinking - Conner's thundering heart kicked up another twenty notches with something between gratitude, fascination, awe, lust and crippling terror. "We can play once you've found the spawn."

"I'll need equipment, boss," Conner said, feeling a lot more confident now that Lucifer's sheer presence was buffered by his new body. Hell left you scraped raw, and raw soul felt much like raw nerves – neither one wanted to be exposed to the Deceiver, in all his glory, in his own domain.

Lucifer handed over a credit card. It was one of those ones that felt it gauche to stick their brand on the card and preferred a more subtle indication of wealth.

"Go wild." Lucifer said cheerfully, "Mazikeen here will take you anywhere you need to go." And be his prison guard and executioner clearly, Conner thought eyeing the probably-not-a-woman sitting at one of the tables. "In the mean time, I have an appointment to keep."

#

Chloe gaped, feeling like the world had fallen out from under her feet.

"What?" She said weakly.

"You're _pregnant?"_ Dan choked on his police issue coffee.

"Pregnant?" The woman demanded, eyes blazing with rage. " _Again_? How dare you seduce him twice!"

That was _it,_ Chloe thought wildly, her tenuous grip on patience frayed with a near audible _snap._

"Me seduce _him?_ What are you _on_? He's the one who propositions me a dozen times a day! And _you!"_ She rounded on a stupefied Dan, coffee dripping from his chin; "It wouldn't be any of your damn business even if I screwed Lucifer a dozen times a day on this _very_ desk. We're _separated_ and thank God we are! As for _you,"_ She rounded on the woman, "Who are you, why are you here and how dare you try to judge my personal life!"

The station was deadly silent. Chloe refused to be embarrassed. She hadn't done anything wrong. She stood tall, with no make up and yesterday's hair bun, hands on hips, glaring the room into submission.

There was the sound of clapping.

Chloe spun.

Lucifer walked out of the shadows, clapping, a delighted grin on his face, "Why detective," he proclaimed, "That was an incredible performance! Such rage, such poise, why I was positively cowed!"

Despite herself, Chloe's glare softened and she relaxed.

"When did you get here?" He was on the wrong side of the bullpen to have come in the front door, but he'd probably broken in out of habit or something.

"Just in time to see your show, dare I ask what inspired you? If it was the douche, I can –"

"My Lord!"

Oh gross. She did _not_ need to know about their bedroom games.

"Lilith, darling."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. Not a one night stand then. Despite herself, she'd done a little research into Christianity after meeting Lucifer. Not because she believed his delusions mind you - just to get a handle on his references. Also, she wanted to know when he veered off script and what that might tell her about him. It was vaguely disturbing to her that he'd never dropped out of character. Insane or not, he was one hell of an actor.

Wasn't Lilith a biblical figure too? She was hard pressed not to roll her eyes. At least she'd found _one_ way to identify the members of his 'famiglia' or whatever he called his people.

"My Lord," Lilith breathed, walking up to Lucifer – and not stopping at a polite distance. She swayed right into his personal space and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You left us. You left _me_."

Perhaps Lord was the new word for Don? Or maybe it was British-organised-crime-tradition. Chloe focused on these thoughts instead of the blatantly sexual display going on right in front of her. Did Lucifer's hands _have_ to be that low on her back? And why was she wearing a dress like that anyway? This wasn't a nightclub nor was it _that_ warm outside.

"I was busy, my dear," he purred down at her, eyes sparking with bacchanal promises.

At least the rest of the station had stopped paying so much attention. They were _all_ far too used to Lucifer's appetite. He was an excellent source of gossip for them and word had spread quickly of his way with, well, _everybody._

"You took _her_ with you _,_ " Lilith grumbled, pouting – and she was even attractive doing that too.

"So?" Lucifer pushed Lilith away – finally – and straightened, "Now, any news?"

Lilith sulked, perching on the end of a desk and leaning back just enough to showcase her body to its best angle. "Your child remains missing."

Lucifer blinked. " _My_ child? Certainly not." He brushed his jacket down fastidiously, shuddering in revulsion.

Chloe coughed into her hand, choking down her own reaction. Lilith thought _Lucifer_ was Trixie's father? Oh _god._ The mere thought of Lucifer reproducing… No. She wouldn't laugh. This wasn't the time. But…he'd probably use the baby as bait to women somehow and would buy it a rubber bone rather than a teddy bear, and it's first word would be 'fetch.'

"You expect me to believe you summoned three hundred thousand of us here on a whim?" Lilith murmured disbelievingly, still posing.

Chloe's thoughts skittered to a halt. _Three hundred thousand?_ Surely not. It had to be an exaggeration, some sort of ploy. _Lucifer_ could call _three hundred thousand_ people to L.A and they actually _came?_

She refused to believe that one thousandth of the population of America – and they had to be American, Lucifer did _not_ have global influence – owed Lucifer enough of a favour to abandon their jobs and families without notice and come to L.A.

Where would they all _fit?_

"There has been no sign of Amenadiel or any other of your siblings," Lilith said. "We've searched every state. We've even searched for an _absence_ of signs. Are you sure this is the right continent, my Lord? Are you sure they're involved?"

"The Hellhounds couldn't find her."

"Perhaps she's already dead."

Chloe _flinched_.

"She isn't," Lucifer replied with reassuring confidence, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder even as he continued his conversation with his…informant. Chloe didn't miss how Lilith's eyes followed the gesture. What she made of it, Chloe was too tired to care.

"Dismiss all but your personal guard back Below. It's clear numbers will be no aid. Focus on Amenadiel."

Lilith went after a slow formal nod that was too close to a bow for Chloe's comfort, sashaying out of the station, many eyes followed her and just as many stared at Lucifer jealously. Why, Chloe couldn't fathom. There had been nothing kind in Lilith's eyes.

"Now, Detective, about that sex… this desk _does_ look rather comfortable now that you mention it. I really should have pegged you for exhibition after Hot Tub High School shouldn't I? Well, no matter, no time like the present…"

#


	7. Chapter 7

#

"Interesting friends you keep, Detective Decker," Agent Johnson smiled professionally. The chaos had left with Lucifer. Chloe would go to Lux after the meeting with the technician to drag him back – she wanted him with her when the photos came in –but she'd had to kick him out in mortification after that last little comment. Oh, if she'd _just_ known he was listening… now she would _never_ hear the end of it.

"I wouldn't call Lucifer a _friend_ exactly," Chloe replied, grinding her teeth at the memory. She should have kept her temper.

"An unusual man," Johnson continued easily. "With unusual connections."

Well well well, Chloe thought quietly amused at his segue into the topic, finally, they wise up. When Trixie was safe in her arms once more, Chloe was going to have to Talk to Lucifer about his network; it was larger than she'd thought and far more powerful. In fact, she was beginning to seriously worry about their society if nothing had been done about it already. Not that she wanted to see Lucifer in jail precisely. In the mean time, it was none of the FBI's business.

"He runs a high-end club," Chloe explained absently, projecting disinterest as she focused on shuffling some paperwork about. "Lots of movers and shakers go there."

What did they know? What did they think they knew? Who else knew? Perhaps the FBI already had a file on Lucifer? The thought was reassuring and concerning at the same time.

"So I've heard. How did he become a civilian consultant again?"

Chloe smiled up at the agent. "He has unusual connections."

Johnson nodded as if conceding a point, and left, just in time for the lieutenant to wave Chloe over for a 'quick chat.'

#

"I'm worried about you Chloe. What was that about?" Dan looked genuinely concerned as he drew her aside and handed her the fourth coffee of the day and she'd only been at the station for two hours. He'd found time to change his shirt, Chloe realised with irritation; _she_ hadn't even had time to find a hairbrush. Not that there'd _been_ time with all the rushing about.

"I lost my temper," Chloe told him, resigned to this conversation. Lieutenant Monroe hadn't chewed her out as she'd half expected; instead, Olivia had let her hide in her office for a minute to let her pull herself together. It had done her a world of good to be away from all of those prying eyes for a brief moment.

Dan frowned. "Chloe, I don't care about that! I'm talking about Lucifer."

"I know," she said icily.

"He's not good for you, or for anybody. You saw that woman – he'd never be faithful to you."

Chloe was actually taken aback by his words. That was so inappropriate she didn't know how to respond.

"Dan, I appreciate the concern," not that he was demonstrating concern, "But how many time do we have to have this conversation? Lucifer is my friend." She refused to allow any hesitation when she said the word friend. Lucifer didn't seem to fit such mundane labels. If any label fit him, it was neon orange with dire warnings of radiation and nuclear waste and toxicity.

Dan looked drawn and weary. "Chloe, you'll never be happy with him."

She was so tired of defending her private life. "That is my decision. I will not –"

"Sir, ma'am?" A voice interrupted, "if you'll come with me? Agent Beck is ready to tag your phones and email."

Chloe gladly took the excuse to abandon the topic, and walked with Dan and the FBI Agent – she thought this one was Michael – to the conference room that had been set aside for their use at the station.

Agent Beck, call me Julie, was a sharp eyed woman, pretty with brown hair blue eyes and a smile that was somewhere between sympathetic and determined.

"OK, so we know the subject is going to email you pictures in two hours or so if he sticks to his four o'clock pattern." She said briskly as Chloe took a seat by her workstation. "To do that, he or she needs an email address and an Internet connection. We're going to try and trace them– but we can only do that if we have a starting point. I'm also going to infect your devices with a programme we've developed over the course of this investigation that ought to help. With me so far?"

Chloe handed over her laptop, her phone and her passwords without a whisper of protest. Anything that could help - but she'd get a new phone and laptop afterwards. Her faith in her colleagues had taken a drastic downturn after Palmetto and the months that followed. It had a subterranean turn after discovering the car that Trixie had taken had been from this very station, and there would be some sort of record of the passwords she'd just handed over. There was always a paper trail.

Somebody was helping The Collector. Somebody she'd worked with for years had helped kidnap her _daughter_ with intent to sell her like a prized dog to a very short life of rape, slavery and abuse until she met the inevitable awful end. Death would probably be a mercy at that point and _damn the bastard_ for making her imagine such a fate for her Trixie.

God she hoped Lucifer had found her a hacker. She _needed_ to know who The Collector was – then she was going to track the bastard down and… she flailed about for a suitable punishment, and… and set Lucifer on them!

They deserved it.

Chloe would even turn a blind eye to Lucifer's more psychotic desires.

"Alright, we're done," Julie said. "Naturally, this is to be kept confidential, if they know what's coming we won't be able to trap them."

What did she think? That Chloe would run her mouth with her daughter at risk? But, but Julie was looking mostly at Dan. That soothed the ragged edge of her rage.

"This way," Agent Michael said, gesturing for them to rise. "It's going to be hard to see the pictures, but you both need to be prepared. Any clue you can discern could be vital, I'm sure you know that of course, but it's different when it's personal. The counsellor will be on hand if you – "

"Thank you Agent," Chloe answered quickly before the Agent could cheerfully escort her to another session with that god awful counsellor. "I know. I'll be here."

She walked out of the back entrance of the station before anyone could gainsay her.

"Chloe! Chloe! Over here!"

Oh crap.

Reporters. She'd almost forgotten how much attention this case was getting. Nothing sold news like tragedy.

Chloe risked a look up from the hand she'd instinctively raised and instantly regretted it.

There were only three of them – all with cameras – but they stood between her and her car. Remembering what Lucifer had said, Chloe braced herself and arranged her features into the appropriate expression of pain and grief. _He gets off on this._

It went against all of her years of exposure, but she managed it.

"How do you feel knowing your daughter is dead?"

"Do you think you've failed as a mother?"

Oh god. She was wrong. She couldn't handle this. She felt nausea rise as the reporter – a slim, trendy looking woman – smiled cheerfully at her, brandishing camera and microphone both in her face.

"Out of the way! Move or die!"

Dazed by the emotional barrage, Chloe thought she'd misheard, but Mazikeen was right there, ploughing through the reporters like a scythe through grass. Cheerfully, she kicked one fat man in the back of his knees so that he dropped to the grass, her heel impaling his camera as she walked over his prostrate form, dismissing him entirely.

She was a police officer; Chloe reminded herself weakly, civilians were being assaulted…

Failed as a mother?

Well, they had to report a crime first anyway. Until then, it wasn't her problem.

"I've been ordered to escort you to Lux," Mazikeen told her perfunctorily, when the woman finally stood before Chloe. "My car is over here."

"I can drive myself!" Chloe protested weakly, head throbbing.

"Lucifer said to drive you," Mazikeen replied. Her tone was final, unconcerned, as if that was the end of it. Lucifer had said it must be so, and so it was.

Then again, Chloe realised, slumping in despair for her sanity; this was _Mazikeen_. Of _course_ Lucifer's orders were absolute to this woman.

Feeling vaguely guilty, as if she was somehow taking advantage from the woman's delusions or her ninja-bodyguard-contract to Lucifer, Chloe followed Mazikeen to her car. She'd half expected something expensive and classy – clearly Lucifer's preferred tastes - but Mazikeen drove an enormous four by four truck. It looked vicious and loomed above the league of sedans ominously. Naturally, it was painted black.

"Thank you," Chloe said dutifully as she hoisted herself up into the seat. "For the reporters I mean, you didn't have to."

"Lucifer ordered me to protect you," the ninja replied easily as she pulled out into traffic and began bullying her way down the roads.

"He did?"

Chloe felt a reluctant flush of warmth through her at that. She was capable of defending herself, but she wouldn't have against those reporters and she knew it. What they'd said had knocked her over as much as a physical blow. It was nice, not to have to let other people walk over her for the sake of politeness.

It was one of the things she admired about Lucifer - reluctant as she was to admit to any redeeming characteristics that man possessed. He was unusual to be sure, but he bowed to nothing and no one.

In a very politically correct world and career, she had to value that.

#

"Darling!"

Chloe took in the room with a glance. Computer screens were everywhere, creating a mess of wires and technology over Lucifer's normally impeccable apartment. Where had he found the time to buy all of this?

Also: a dead man.

In fact, Chloe was so busy staring at the previously deceased Conner Brent that it was easy to caught the look he gave her at Lucifer's address.

She wasn't sure what look it was, but she caught it. Unease perhaps? Surely it hadn't been fear. Not of _her._

"Lucifer, there's a dead man in your flat." She fingered her empty holster warily, wishing she still had her gun.

"Hmm? Oh him, well you did say you needed a hacker, darling, do you not like him? I have time to get another."

Brent shot her another look. This one she understood: pleading.

"No," Chloe said slowly, eyeing him uncertainly "He's fine, er, where did you find him exactly?"

To her memory Conner Brent had been shot dead during a police stand off. It had made the news and there had been some controversy over the legality of it, which was why his face was memorable.

It had all been very public and very real.

"In Hell of course."

Chloe did a bit of mental acrobatics, on a skill level akin to the Cirque du Soleil. She'd gotten _very_ good at in in the months she'd known Lucifer.

Obviously, the police faked the whole shoot out. Brent must have been in protective custody or pressed into service for his computer skills maybe? That happened to the better ones, or so she'd heard. Lucifer would certainly find either set of restrictions hellish.

"I see," she said faintly. How far did Lucifer's network extend exactly? For him to know about new identities or safe houses… oh yes, they would talk. _After._

"Ma'am?" Conner said diffidently, edging over towards her, "May I borrow your phone?"

"The FBI have done something to it too," Chloe said weakly, offering it. Was this going to get her in trouble? Did she care?

"I'm sure they _tried"_ Conner sniffed dismissively, before shooting a terrified look at Lucifer and hastily added, "Ma'am."

Oh yes, Chloe thought tiredly, Lucifer had definitely used some of his tricks on this one. She knew the signs.

"Drink, detective?" Lucifer held out something amber in a spirit glass. It was probably rare.

Conner flinched again; his back hunched as he connected her phone to his computer and started tapping away, crouching awkwardly in the chair – desperate not to be noticed.

"I'm on duty Lucifer. Besides it's nowhere near six." Chloe sighed, collapsing on Lucifer's hideously expensive and comfortable couch and easing out of her heels. They were the lowest height the station let women get away with and they were still uncomfortable. How she was expected to run in them, well, she knew better than to ask.

"And?" Lucifer asked, bewildered, drink still in hand he sat beside her with no sense of personal space or boundaries but she was too used to it to protest. This at least was familiar, and she needed familiar right now, no matter the source.

"And it means I can't drink," Only Lucifer would need that explaining, she thought fondly. Technically, she'd been on forced leave the moment the suspicion of kidnap had arisen, but she still thought of herself on duty, and she was working Trixie's case.

"How barbaric." He said, horrified, taking a reassuring sip before angling his body towards her and leaning forward intently. The gleam in his eye made Chloe want to …something.

"I want you to move in with me tonight."

Chloe's mind froze, her extreme skill with mental gymnastics failing to re-interpret that sentence. Instead, she reached across Lucifer's rock hard body – damn him and damn those suits – snatched the drink from his grasp and downed it in one.

"Why detective, you rebel," Lucifer praised, topping her up gleefully.

"Not happening," Chloe protested firmly. You always had to use a firm tone with Lucifer or he just rolled over your objections and carried on anyway. Why did he always spring these moments of insanity on her when all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep? It was like he could _sense_ weakness or something.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Brent jerk. He shot her – and it was definitely her – a wide-eyed stare before snapping his head back around to the computer. Determination to see nothing, hear nothing, and say nothing so clearly portrayed in his body language that he might as well have screamed it out.

"Will you want a room of your own or will you share mine?"

"I'm not moving in." Chloe insisted again.

"Darling," Lucifer reproved, "I'm not leaving you alone until you have the spawn back, and I refuse to be exiled to the couch again." He perked up, face lighting, he smirked, "Unless, you –

"You aren't sharing my bed."

Lucifer fell back against the couch pouting.

"Maze will make up the guest room then."

"Lucifer," Chloe said "I'm-

"Reporters can't get up here," Lucifer told her earnestly, "And I have much better security and you can supervise your hacker," he tempted. Damn it, it was so hard to tell him 'no, no, dear god no,' when he was acting from concern. She felt like she ought to reward his good behaviour. Positive reinforcement would eventually lead to a more stable mind, she was certain. She'd been reading too.

"You already have a guest," she changed tack, knowing when an argument was lost didn't mean she'd surrender that easily. It set a bad precedent.

"Conner doesn't mind sleeping on the couch, do you, pet?" Lucifer said, smiling at her. He hadn't even _glanced_ at his probably-a-fugitive- hacker before speaking. She doubted a fugitive was sleeping in a hotel with records and CCTV cameras everywhere.

There was nothing in his tone that had been threatening, per se, but Brent must have heard _something_ for he paled rapidly. Perhaps it was simply being acknowledged? She knew hackers had a certain stereotype, but surely no one was that socially awkward? Lucifer hadn't been polite, but Chloe couldn't imagine why anybody was ever afraid of Lucifer. He was an overgrown puppy really.

Except for the criminal empire.

"No, sir, I'm fine right here sir, really, there's no need for you to concern yourself with me at all sir, ma'am."

"You see?" Lucifer prompted her acting so much like Trixie – _look mummy! -_ she had to swallow hard.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Brent," Chloe said, it was so much easier to speak to the hacker until her throat stopped feeling so tight.

"-Really Detective, do you have to call on _him?"_

"-Don't let Lucifer walk all over you!" There was enough of that about already she thought, easily ignoring and talking over Lucifer's protest.

"Oh no ma'am," Brent told her earnestly, "I don't mind, really I don't."

"And stop calling me ma'am," Chloe added, more gently, the irritation fading and taking her energy with it. The other man looked terrified and it was calling to her maternal instincts for all he was a man grown already.

"My name is Chloe Decker, and I ought to have thanked you for helping me find my daughter," Chloe replied softly, "Thank you. I don't know how I can repay -,"

"It's fine," Brent interrupted hastily, waving his hands frantically, "Lucifer made me a, erm, a deal, yes a deal. So I've been paid already. I was never a white hat but I don't hold with anyone who hurts children either. Really it's fine."

"You're upsetting my hacker detective," Lucifer sulked. "And anyway, Mazikeen has already bought an overnight bag for you."

She took a long breath. "Lucifer, did Mazikeen break into my house?"

"She didn't break anything," Lucifer sighed, sprawling over the couch dramatically – still sulking.

Choose your battles, Chloe thought; thinking fondly of the advice the lieutenant had given her back when she'd first started as a beat cop.

"So, Mr. Brent, have you found anything?"

Brent looked first to Lucifer, who nodded permission, before talking.

"Well, I can tell you that the FBI suspect someone called Dan Espinoza," he reported easily, relieved now that he was on familiar territory, "Apparently he's a cop? Anyway he –"

Chloe dropped her glass, the crystal shattered into a thousands shards, bright and sparkling against the black marble floor.

#


	8. Chapter 8

#

Mr. Morningstar was a very curious character; Agent Johnson thought as he put the report down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Very curious indeed, but was it relevant?

An unknown past was suspicious, but The Collector had been active in times and places when Mr Morningstar had a clear alibi. Still, not being The Collector didn't mean he wasn't involved in something else. He tapped his fingers on his borrowed desk. Club owners didn't remain club owners after five years of running at a loss, nor were they able to hide their past from the FBI's best, and thus there had to be more to this story. A great deal more. His thoughts circled; The Collector had to be his priority and yet something rumbled uneasily in the base of his skull at the thought of Morningstar.

Michael rapped his knuckles once on their shared desk and Johnson jerked in surprise.

"Sir? We have the warrants."

"So quickly?" Johnson frowned even as he scanned the proffered papers. The various legal enforcement offices may preach co-operation, but the truth was never as rosy as their press releases made it seem. Search warrants for a local officer, even from a supposedly neutral judge… well, Johnson had seen too much of bureaucratic squabbling to hope that they'd find the girl alive by the time all the ruffled feathers had been soothed and various personages assured of their career's safety.

"Indeed," Michael gave a wry grin, "Judge Tourvel already had most of the facts when I phoned her an hour ago. Apparently, a concerned citizen had filled her in. In detail. I was invited to her house as, and here I quote, 'it will be quicker than the office' where she proceeded to sign the warrants and encourage me to come to her if there was anything, anything at all, she could do to help."

"How helpful," Johnson mused, "and very convenient, wouldn't you say?"

He tuned back to his computer, where the picture of one Lucifer Morningstar smirked back at him and then he turned his back.

"Gather the team."

#

"Dan? Oh my God," Chloe paced the marble floors in agitation. "No wonder the public scream about law enforcement incompetence. The FBI, _the FBI,_ of all people – and the best they can come up with is Dan? Trixie's _father?_ No wonder they haven't caught the guy already! _"_

She looked incredible, Lucifer thought, entranced as she stalked up and down his living room, her soul afire with passion as she raged about injustice. He liked seeing her here, in his home. It was…right.

"And you!" Lucifer blinked in confusion as she rounded on him, the blaze of her soul almost blinding to his newly empowered eyes. "Why are you not saying anything? You can't believe this… this fraud!"

"Detective," he soothed absently, more interested in the glorious whorls and twists of her soul, "The depths of human depravity will never surprise me. Why, the stories I could tell you… Sodom and Gomorrah were really only the beginning you know," he trailed off, lost in the memories. How surprised they'd been, when the armies of heaven had come for them. Indignant too, right up until the despair hit, when they realised how powerless they were, and had been, all along.

"I'm not a fraud. They have an arrest warrant on the system. It's _real."_

The sullen mutter drew him back to the present and he tore his gaze reluctantly from the Detective's soul up to her eyes, willing her to believe him.

"Mr. Brent wouldn't lie to me, Detective, even if he could."

The hacker shuddered, a full body shudder that made Lucifer purr in satisfaction inside to see. It had been positively _ages_ since he'd had someone _in the know_ in his bed. Connor was going to be so much fun to play with.

This hacker had been a good choice too for that matter; it hadn't taken him long at all to get into the police's network. Lucifer would have hated for his one 'free' resurrection to go to waste.

Amenadiel had tipped the balance with Malcolm's unseemly resurrection; Brent's return tipped it back. His soul was _also_ fascinating to watch, torn as it was between existential horror and inhuman desire, yet it lacked the detective's bizarre appeal, branded as it was by their Bargain and his time spent in Hell.

Nothing would have stopped him, had Connor lied about his usefulness.

A Deal was a Deal, but he was Lucifer.

He'd promised a mortal life, and a mortal life Connor would get, as agreed. Yet whether Connor realised it or not, there had been many loopholes. Their entire conversation had formed the Bargain, including the moment where Connor had tried to outline the terms and Lucifer had intimidated him into hurrying up.

 _You won't ah, kill me once I'm no longer useful?_

 _Only if you annoy me._

Lucifer found lies to be very annoying.

Connor may have understood the trap, not that it mattered, or he may have thought it unrelated conversation, but either way, Lucifer knew how to phrase his Deals.

The Devil was always in the details, you know.

"I'm not lying, Ma'am," Brent promised fervently, wringing his hands anxiously, "Look, look, it's right there on the screen!" He ran to the rightmost screen turning it towards her and standing by it, shaking, looking at her with wide eyes full of an emotion Lucifer didn't understand.

Lucifer, exasperated, returned to watching his unreasonable detective, as he sipped a particularly fine whisky. She was now eyeing his hacker with concern – he'd learned to recognise that particularly nasty emotion fairly quickly. She'd gone from calling him a fraud to being worried for him in the space of two sentences.

Humans.

He'd never understand them. It was amazing that they even found time to make things – like his whisky – the way they carried on with all these feelings. It seemed so exhausting.

"Are they interviewing him?" Chloe asked, stepping towards the computers warily, "Can we hear what they're saying from here? Can we watch?"

"Yeah, sure, er," Conner eyed them both again, "I mean yes, ma'am. As long as the CCTV inside the interrogation room has audio, I mean, but I can definitely do that for you even if I have to hack the microphone of their phones, I swear down."

Conner looked back to him pleadingly – Lucifer was very familiar with that one - and Lucifer raised an eyebrow in silent question when Chloe's eyes followed, narrowing thoughtfully on him.

#

"Have the pictures arrived early?" Dan asked, sliding into the awkward plastic chair of one of the interview rooms – the only place you could talk in private these days. "Have you called Chloe? She's only just left – probably off with Lucifer again."

He made no effort to hide the derision in his voice when he spoke of that man.

"Do you not like Mr Morningstar?" Agent Johnson replied in an easy conversational manner. "He's quite popular around the station, or so I hear."

"You mean he's slept with half the station," Dan scoffed, hands fisting unconsciously. Lucifer made it look so _easy._

"Including your estranged wife?" Johnson kept his face smooth as he winced inside. He had _not_ meant to say that, it was too aggressive. Ideally, Mr. Espinoza wouldn't know he was under suspicion for as long as they could manage. Suspects were much more cooperative before you brought out the A-word.

"She wouldn't do that to me," Dan scowled, an ugly expression. "The divorce isn't finalised, it would break her vows."

"I see." Johnson said mildly, trying to get back onto a smoother track. Did he actually believe that or was he trying to convince himself? Was this some sick form of jealousy? Was Morningstar's entrance into Ms. Decker's life a stress trigger?

Dan paused. "What does this have to do with Trixie?"

#

"I don't get it," Julie said, eyeing the feed from the interrogation room, "What's his motive?"

"Jealousy? It's pretty clear that he hates his wife's new beau."

"They're not sleeping together," Julie denied easily, "You can tell he wants to, he really wants to, but her body language is all wrong for that. His body language is weird too for that matter, I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's not aggressive. I can tell that much."

"Pre-emptive jealousy then?" Michael shrugged, too used to the way some of these perps minds worked to be surprised. "Nothing like a missing child to give you an excuse to talk to your wife, comfort her, support her, and try to fix the marriage."

Julie snorted. "That woman didn't look like she needed comforting, she looked like she needed an axe. And I'm pretty sure Morningstar would get it for her and then gleefully hold the man down for her swing. You've heard the gossip around here."

Agent Michael paused. "Alright," he said reluctantly. "I'll give you that one. But you can't deny Espinoza's name is the last on the roster, _and_ that he's been acting suspiciously."

"Have we talked to the partner yet?"

"No, he called in sick yesterday morning."

"What do the bank accounts look like?"

"Couple of large withdrawals made recently, all in cash."

"Suspicious timing, but it doesn't prove anything."

"Yet."

#

Chloe listened intently to the Agent discussion and to Dan's interview. It was surreal, and vaguely embarrassing, to hear so many people dissect her life. She was tired of people making assumptions about her private life. Who she slept with was private – right up until it wasn't, apparently, and it was another injustice piled on top of a heap of them. She was almost too hurt to care. Almost.

Yet, she had to admit that it was reluctantly interesting too. Dan would never have spoken that way in front of her. It was a rougher side to him than she'd ever known – until the final days of their marriage. Nor would she have learned about any of this until after the investigation was over.

Lucifer's hacker was good. She was glad she'd asked for one, even if this was technically illegal. It was good to be doing something. A balm for her soul to know what was going on instead of being kept on the side lines, waiting, always waiting for news. She'd never treat her witnesses the same way again.

Speaking of 'the devil', she eyed the two men. Conner had given Lucifer his chair instantly, when Lucifer had finally meandered over to watch, and hovered awkwardly in the background, drawing close enough to check that they were still undetected, and then retreating for a few minutes before shuffling back again. Lucifer was spending more time watching Conner than he was the screens – and Conner seemed _pleased_ by the attention and then terrified because of it.

The man seemed so confused, if it wasn't _Lucifer,_ then she'd say Connor was scared of him. But it _was_ Lucifer, and Lucifer was as scary as a puppy, with big soulful eyes. It was probably a sexuality crisis. It certainly wasn't the first time a straight man had freaked out over wanting Lucifer. Nor was it the first time Lucifer had seduced one for the pleasure of watching them freak out afterwards.

The man was incorrigible. He even had a _scale_ for how he ranked the post-coital reactions, and Chloe wished she didn't know even that much – but Lucifer would _text her_ the details.

"What roster are they talking about?" Chloe asked firmly.

"Oh I looked that up," Connor said, giving Lucifer another one of those glances, "It's for the police car you found? Apparently you sign them in and out or something? I wasn't too sure, but apparently that guy's name is the last on the list before it was used in the crime."

"Yeah," Chloe confirmed softly, "It's the cost cuts. No need to have so many cars fitted out if half the time the officers are on desk duty."

"Is that all you've found out? It's been _ages,"_ Lucifer whined, twirling around in the computer chair, a fresh drink in hand. Honestly, the man's tolerance had to be insane. He had whisky for _breakfast_ and had never once stumbled. Connor jerked so hard at Lucifer's whinging that he nearly fell of the desk he'd perched on since Lucifer had his chair.

"I'll find more boss. Don't worry."

"Oh, I'm not worrying," Lucifer assured sweetly. "I have full faith in your abilities."

His sweet, patient, tone set all of Chloe's instincts off.

Conner shakily reached across Lucifer to access the keyboard. Chloe watched as he shut down half a dozen YouTube sites relating to… bushcraft? Seriously? This guy? Chloe eyed the skinny man dubiously, unable to picture him braving the wilds. Still, she tried not to judge as Conner returned to the L.A.P.D intranet – and didn't she feel uncomfortable seeing all of those files so easily accessed.

Afterwards, she promised herself, afterwards she'd drop a few words to the tech department.

Yesterday – a lifetime ago – she'd have arrested Connor. Today, she was willing to trust him.

What a difference twenty-three hours could make.

Twenty-three hours?

Chloe glanced hurriedly at her watch even as she grabbed Lucifer's shoulder and hauled him upright, stealing his drink and tossing it down the sink in one smooth motion as she hustled him out the door.

"Detective! That was four hundred year old Bushmills!"

"We need to be at the station," Chloe overrode his complaining, knowing it was the best way to deal with people like Lucifer and her mother. Horror mixed with exhaustion in her belly and it roiled wildly, unimproved by the thought of a twenty-minute car ride ahead. She was sick of the dashing too and fro she'd been doing all day too, but it hardly registered against the backdrop of other worries.

Lucifer stopped whinging, grabbing his car keys as he hustled _her_ into the elevator.

#

"You brought _him?"_

The echo from earlier was not welcome.

"Yes Dan. Lucifer is my friend. Sort of. He's here for support."

"Chloe he's –"

"He's staying." Chloe grit her teeth. "I want him here."

She was relieved that Lucifer didn't take obvious innuendo, keeping it hidden behind his smirk for once. Not that he needed to say it for her to hear it.

 _Here? Detective! You naughty minx._

"Ten minutes," Agent Price warned, her eyes fixed on the computer.

Chloe reached for Lucifer's hand beneath the desk, ignoring his _deer-in-the-headlights_ look as she silently demanded his support. She gripped it as hard as she had for those poor nurses during labour. She needed something to hold onto and Lucifer was it.

Pictures.

Pictures of Trixie.

Proof of life, that was one good bit – not that she could know when they were really taken. Or if they were real. What if they'd been photo shopped? What if they were obscene? Explicit? God, what Trixie had gone through? A full day in this monster's company, and Chloe hadn't saved her. For Trixie to have those pictures on a dozen different legal files, for all those people to _see them_ – and Chloe was stuck sitting here in this cramped little office, Lucifer on one side awkward with her emotions, Dan on the other all stiff-backed pride, and the eyes of a dozen people on her.

Without looking at her, Lucifer reached over with his one free hand and tugged the blinds shut, shielding her from the curious bullpen.

That man. Sometimes he was so callous, so insensitive to everyone around him that she could barely look at him, other times he was so generous, so kind that she couldn't look away.

She had to look away today though. Chloe stiffened her spine, wondering if The Collector was watching her even now. He wanted to see her pain, they said, and Conner had certainly accessed the L.A.P.D CCTTV easily enough. If one hacker could do it, then so could others.

Should she scream? Cry? Would that satisfy him? Would it help Trixie somehow, keep his attentions on the mother rather than the child?

Before she could even begin to decide, there was a faint chime from the computer, signalling the incoming email, and her insides turned to icy stone. God she was going to be sick, and probably all over Lucifer, the way her life was going.

Agent Beck opened the email without a fuss, and Chloe was deeply thankful she had that task, and not only because she really would have been sick if she'd had to do it. How she prayed the computer virus had taken, that this whole sorry, sordid, event could have some sort of greater purpose.

Trixie was in a pink dress.

Trixie _hated_ pink. It seemed such a tiny thing, and yet it brought tears to her eyes. Trixie had _always_ hated pink. God, Chloe would eagerly argue about flushing Barbie's down the toilet all day, pay a thousand plumbers, if she could only hear Trixie scream about pink one more time.

Chloe took one look at her daughters frozen expression of absolute misery, before she had to bury her face into Lucifer's arm, trying to remember how to cry.

#


	9. Chapter 9

#

They were not obscene. That was something. Trixie was miserable, and though it broke her heart, though she'd never forget that image, though she'd have nightmares from here to world's end, Chloe was also bitterly relieved.

To be miserable, you had to be alive.

That was something too.

Alive. Alive. _Alive._ Chloe repeated that to herself, quietly in the privacy of her mind, until she felt a little more stable. She took a deep breath, Lucifer's ridiculously expensive cologne comforting in it's familiarity. She allowed herself one more, and then turned back to the screen. There was work to be done.

Dan put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off without looking at him. She didn't have time for that pit of worms. Trixie needed her, and by God, Chloe would do everything she could to answer that call.

She focused on the picture. That awful, heart wrenching, oh god oh god oh god, pleasepleaseplease. Chloe paused, and stared ahead unblinking, taking another deep breath. She took everything she was feeling, and more importantly, everything she wasn't feeling, crushed it, stuffed it into a box at the back of her mind, wrapped the box in chains and gave it a kick for good measure. She focused on the picture.

What could she see? What might be a clue?

"Is anything striking you, Ms Decker?" Agent Johnson prodded calmly. "Anything unusual?"

In another time, she might have hated his apathy. Unusual? As if the whole situation wasn't completely alien. She didn't though. Right then she only appreciated his professionalism. She tried not to wonder what that said about her. It was just work, and the attractive female cop couldn't be less professional than the older male or she'd be stuck bringing them coffee for the next thirty years. The routine of it all was good; it reinforced all of her well-practiced coping methods, letting her keep her mind on the job.

Trixie's clothes had been changed, that was the obvious bit. Instead of her jeans and the blue top she'd worn to school, she was now in a pink ball gown with wide skirts and a corset top. Had the creep changed her? Or had Trixie been allowed to do that herself. Had he watched? Murder flared in her heart. It was the kind of dress her mother would have picked Chloe thought viciously. It looked like something from Disney, all pink and puffy with chiffon shoulders that were more decorative than practical.

Disney. Her eyes narrowed in thought.

Trixie was also wearing a tiara, her hair styled precisely so the tiny bit of metal fitted into it without visible support.

Chloe was greedy for the details even as they disgusted her right down to her core. No matter how her mind skittered over the topic, Chloe couldn't deny to herself that this might very well be the last time she saw Trixie alive. She absorbed the picture, memorising the details of her daughter's face from the wide bright eyes right down to the smallest freckle on her nose, and the bruises on her arms.

"The dress," she said, her voice as cold as the artic, "the tiara, the hair, it all looks exactly like the princess from Sleeping Beauty. That has to be deliberate."

Was it the official version? That stuff wasn't cheap. It had to be an easy sixty, seventy dollars before tax if it wasn't some cheap knock-off. She wondered why Trixie had had to change clothes, and then steered her mind away from the answers she thought of.

Trixie had fought back. Those bruises on the arms were defensive ones, with offensive ones scattered on top. That was another something. Oh her brave little girl. It wasn't fair. How could a world allow this? Why hadn't lightning rained down from the sky the moment Trixie was harmed? Why hadn't the earth opened? How could the world carry on like nothing had happened? Where was the justice? The Devil take The Collector's soul, Chloe thought, fear and hatred roiling within her at the sight of her daughter's suffering.

Lucifer shifted awkwardly beside her, and Chloe tightened her grip on his hand. If he was having an unfortunate case of emotions, he was just going to have to deal with them like the rest of humanity. He wasn't going to escape their foibles by drowning himself in sex and sin, and she wouldn't permit him to avoid her either.

"Alright," Johnson said calmly, "Anything else?"

Chloe searched desperately, wondering what on earth they expected her to see that they couldn't.

Trixie was handcuffed to the wall. A wall that looked like it was corrugated iron – the pattern was unmistakable. It was a dark narrow room by the looks it, though the picture only caught a fraction of the room. Trixie was standing in some sort of spotlight, so that she alone was displayed for the picture.

"Is that a shipping container?" Dan echoed her thoughts.

"Possibly," Johnson allowed quietly. "Is there anything about the picture that you think might help us, Mr Espinoza? Ms Decker? Anything at all?"

Chloe's gaze was fixed on the sight of handcuffs on her daughter's wrists. They were bright silver. A wretched colour, silver. Trixie'd been cuffed with hands in front rather than behind which would be more comfortable but was probably meant for a more appealing picture to the perverts of the world or something equally horrid that Chloe's healthy mind couldn't wrap itself about. The cuffs were tight, Chloe guessed, as Trixie's wrists were red, raw, and probably bleeding but Chloe couldn't tell from the angle.

"Her hands," Chloe said softly, pride and helplessness rising within her as she saw what her beautiful brilliant daughter was doing. "Her fingers – that's deliberate."

There, on her lap, Trixie was holding her fingers out, one on her left hand, folded over a three on her right.

"Thirteen," Lucifer spoke for the first time, his voice utterly flat. It was so unusual for him that Chloe had to stare. Oh yes, she thought uneasily shifting in her chair; Lucifer was having a fit of the emotions.

She wondered if she was the only one who could see the spark of red in his eyes. Red-eye was a common photographic effect… reflected light. Except red-eye was from a reflection, and Lucifer's eyes were burning from within. Not that that was possible…She wondered what it meant. She wondered if she cared.

Chloe didn't let go of his hand and swiftly added a few red-eye related thoughts to the box in her mind.

"Are you sure it's deliberate?" Agent Johnson said after a long moment of silence. He was looking at her, Chloe knew, but she was certain that all of his attention was on Lucifer. Lucifer's rage often seemed to have that effect on a room.

"Yes."

"Alright. We'll keep you informed. It might be best if you went home to rest, Ms Decker. I'll call if we have any news, and you have my number if you think of anything more. There's nothing else for you to do today."

"Yes," Chloe said numbly. "I'll call."

"And here's a card for you, Mr. Morningstar," Agent Johnson added casually. "If you happen to think of anything relevant."

Lucifer took the card with his spare hand. He looked at it and silently tucked it into his pocket without a single comment, not even a smirk or an innuendo about phone sex.

Definitely a fit of the emotions, Chloe thought, guiding Lucifer out of the room as Johnson turned to Dan. Chloe just caught the first question before the door closed behind them.

"Have you heard from your partner recently at all?"

#

Lucifer drove them back to Lux.

Chloe leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and watched him from the corner of her eye as he drove with his usual disregard for law and order. She didn't know quite what she'd expected from him, but this wasn't it.

Lucifer wasn't gripping the steering wheels, knuckles white with rage, he wasn't hissing and fuming and cursing up a storm, turning the air blue with his vocabulary choices. Not like she would have been - if she didn't feel so useless. Lucifer just drove, seeming completely calm. He wasn't even speeding.

If she didn't know better, she'd have assumed he didn't care.

When they pulled up, he tossed the keys to his valet and stepped around the car to open her door for her and he even extended a hand as if she needed assistance. Chloe's eyebrows climbed to the sky, but she took the hand.

A display of manners deserved positive reinforcement, no matter how old-world, but he didn't seem to notice her exasperation. He appeared to be lost in thought as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and escorted her upstairs, and Chloe certainly felt as if she was being escorted. She half wondered where her ball gown was, the way he was acting. He actually opened and held all the doors for her, and kept holding them open when the act made her jerk to a halt and stare until she passed through it. He didn't notice her amazement either.

Even Conner did a double take as Lucifer 'escorted' her to a seat on the sofa where he finally released her arm, and set about fixing her a drink. The poor hacker looked terrible, and Chloe felt guilty that he was working to exhaustion for her, yet grateful for it too. It soothed her soul to know what the official investigation was keeping from her, if she didn't have Connor she wouldn't have had a clue about how realistic Trixie's chances were.

She almost did a spit-take when she sipped her brightly coloured cocktail and realised that it wasn't alcoholic. Lucifer had _listened_ to her and _remembered_ her preference for not drinking at a time like this. Instead of blatantly flouting her rules, he had been _considerate._

It was lucky she was already sitting down.

Lucifer for once didn't sit thigh to thigh with her and try throwing his arm around her shoulders. He stood at the enormous window, looking out over the city, afternoon light bright and incongruous, as quiet as a mouse. He'd foregone his usual drink too and just stood, watching the clouds drift by with a thousand-yard stare.

"Report." It was spoken quietly, but there was no mistaking the steel fist beneath the velvet gauntlet.

"An investigation on the police car has been uploaded to the official servers," Conner reported obediently, rising to address Lucifer though her erstwhile partner kept his back to the poor man. "No forensic traces were found." Chloe closed her eyes slowly fighting the rising tide of despair with a weakening will.

 _Lucifer had promised. Alive, not unharmed, but alive. It was enough. Surely it had to be enough._

"The car had been cleaned." Connor spoke faster and faster the longer Lucifer remained silent until his words spewed forth like a river, syllables running over each other in a barely coherent torrent. "There was a side note too, they said that few would know how to completely hide the evidence like that, you know? They think it was a professional job, or someone in law enforcement or forensic science. Normally they'd find something, even if it was perfectly normal cast off from everyone else whose used the car, but they didn't this time, that's why it's suspicious, since there's just nothing when a legitimate car would have something even if its not relevant. But that's not it! There was stuff about the mileage! Police have to check a car in and out and they record the miles. I mean, it's not unusual to forget, but I did find something new! There's like twenty miles unaccounted for. That was good right?"

"I see."

Feeling rather detached, Chloe watched with mild interest as Connor flinched, those two words a death sentence or worse apparently.

Twenty unreported miles. It wasn't much, her brain knew, but despite the odds still rattling around mockingly in her brain, Chloe allowed herself to latch onto the lead with reigns of hope.

"Connor," she said rising and padding over to the computers.

"Yes, Ma'am?" he eyed her dubiously.

"Can you bring me up a map?" she spared him a small smile, honestly, she might be a cop, but she wasn't going to bite. "How far is it exactly from where they found the car to Trixie's school?"

Settling back into his den, Connor brought up a map and worked it out for her.

"Three point six miles exactly," he reported with a quick look at Lucifer as if to say; _see that? I answered it right!_ Like a dog wanting a treat for performing a trick. Chloe stuffed the thought down harshly. That was mean, Connor was helping her, and it was perfectly understandable that he was anxious around Lucifer considering the strings he'd pulled to get him out of whatever pit he'd been hidden in.

"Three point six," Chloe mused, "Perhaps there and back it might be as much as seven point two, leaving twelve point eight miles to search for a corrugated iron container and the number thirteen."

"It's probably wider than that, ma'am," Conner said easily, comfortable now that they were firming in his area of expertise. "You can take the first three point six off easily, as he has to get to the school, but you can't predict the route he took. He might have parked up and used public transportation ten miles away, hid the girl, and then driven the car another ten miles back to its spot. He might have hidden her four miles away and drove about more to pick up his groceries, or drove to somewhere where he had space and time to deep clean the car."

It was not much, Chloe knew, but it was all she had.

"Lucifer, can you," she began, turning, when a sharp clap broke the silence. Lucifer -clapping twice up high and off to the side, as if he were Roman, imperiously summoning his slaves.

"What-," she broke off again when she realised that Lilith was in the room.

How could she have missed her? Chloe thought, deeply unsettled. The apartment had been empty, she was sure of it. Unless the woman had been hiding in Lucifer's bedroom-

Pain from her jaw told Chloe if she ground her teeth any more, she'd be eating mashed dinners for the rest of her life.

The other woman had found the time to change apparently, Chloe noted with irritation, suddenly all too aware all over again that she'd slept in these clothes and her hair hadn't seen a hairbrush in far too long. Lilith had moved from the red dress to a more subtle leather ensemble. Charming.

"My lord?" Lilith purred, posing against the wall.

Lucifer didn't even glance towards her; Chloe felt a thrill of victory as Lilith glared at her for his silence. Not that she was competing, but really, the other woman needed to learn some self-control. She gave her a tight smile in return, just to be friendly.

Perhaps Lucifer's secret past hid some sort of title? He _was_ British and it would certainly explain why he had a bodyguard with Mazikeen's skills, his habitual arrogance and why he got the formal address from his 'people.' She could just imagine him as a child, ordering servants, seducing maids, and charming the cook into handing him cookies before dinner.

"Amenadiel?" Lucifer voice broke through her wondering mind. She blamed stress. Lucifer would have made an adorable child, true, but she had to keep her mind on the task before her.

Lilith's sultry smile froze and she straightened so that she was facing Lucifer head on when he turned to give her a sliver of his attention. "We cannot find him," she admitted bluntly, chin rising. "He shields himself still."

Lucifer gave her a stony look, and the frozen smile slid off her face in a most satisfactory manner.

Lilith swallowed and Chloe felt her sense of satiation drain away. It was difficult to feel anything good when the other woman had dread in her eyes. Not that she had anything to be victorious about anyway, she reminded herself firmly.

Lilith took a step closer to Lucifer and then sank to one knee, fist over her heart and head bowed.

"We haven't had enough time, but if I have failed you, my Lord. I-,"

"When you have failed me, Lilith," Lucifer interrupted smoothly, "You will know it."

That had definitely been a threat. Chloe shuddered, the ice in Lucifer's tone unmistakable no matter how nonchalant he was about it. Witnessing it didn't make the idea of _her_ Lucifer being anything but the affable, over-sexed, puppy easier to swallow. He was _Lucifer_ not… this. It made her feel ill at ease, but she knew which one would get her daughter back.

"As you say, my Lord," Lilith replied faintly.

Lucifer eyed her for a long moment. Lilith remained on her knees.

"Besides," he continued in a warmer tone, "If you're going to beg before me on your knees –"

"Ahem," Chloe coughed as loudly as she could, giving Lucifer a pointed look. He gave her a wide-eyed innocent look in return and she coughed again to cover her laugh. That was _her_ Lucifer all over.

"Bring up pictures of corrugated iron and shipping containers," Lucifer ordered. "Lilith, you and yours are to search the area outlined on that map for anything that looks like that."

Lilith took one glance at the information, nodded once to Lucifer, and strode to the balcony with determined energy.

"Take the elevator," Lucifer called to her, and she turned, bemusement clear on her face- until she looked at Chloe.

Scowling at her, Lilith went to the elevator and was gone. Chloe wanted to go with her on the search, unlikely as it might be, but the look in the other woman's eyes warned her away. Honestly, she wasn't even sleeping with Lucifer, why did she get the jealous looks all the time?

Lucifer walked back to the window, and Chloe decided now was the time.

"Talk to me about your brother," Chloe said, when it became clear that no one else was going to break the silence. "Why do you think he's involved? Was," she paused, "Was Trixie targeted because of you? Because of your," she paused again, struggling to speak aloud her darkest thoughts, "Family business."

#


	10. Chapter 10

#

Lucifer eyed his ever-dubious Detective with a dawning sense of horror and self-disgust as he realised that he was fully prepared to tell her the truth.

 _How low can I fall?_

When had he become so attached to her anyway? He grumbled silently to himself. He didn't do _attachment._ Dreadful disease that. He was… he was _Lucifer._

The Lightbringer. The Morningstar. The Devil.

He was passion, indulgence, and fun. He was beautiful, he was hedonistic, and yes, he confessed to a little pride, and he just adored the seven _dastardly_ sins, but what didn't he have to be proud about? He was the brightest of all of his siblings, he'd been first to Rebel, he'd _created_ Rebellion, and he was the second most powerful being in all of Creation. (Or third, depending on the day; bloody Michael and his bloody flaming sword.)

Above everything else, he was Freedom.

He did not _spill_ Divine secrets to a mayfly of a mortal. Particularly not one he hadn't even slept with yet. And certainly not just because she asked it of him.

Mortals were supposed to suffer some dreadful Test to be granted Divine truths, or so Lucifer assumed after watching his Father's examples. Of course, the Detective didn't have a son to sacrifice or a magical sheep to offer. Then again, Lucifer had no wish to be anything like his Father so that was probably for the best.

Grimacing in remembrance, he poured himself a triple brandy, sipping at it slowly to prove he wasn't bothered whatsoever by the Detective's expectant look.

His gaze fell on his pet hacker.

Connor was tapping away at the desk, which groaned under the weight of technology, the epitome of industry. He'd been useful, Lucifer mused, deliberately ignoring Chloe's tapping foot. However Amenadiel had warded the tiny human, he had not been thorough enough to prevent Brent from getting closer. Chloe's request had been a good idea, smart and devious. Lucifer _liked_.

Naturally, he'd remember the tactic, when he and his siblings crossed swords again, and he'd guard his own plots far more carefully in his turn.

From the corner of his eye, Lucifer saw Chloe put her hands on her hips. He quickly downed his brandy and gave the rest of the bottle a mournful look.

Oh well, best to get it over with.

"Brent," he said, calmly, really there was no reason for the damned soul to look at him so, didn't he know what Chloe would think of those wide eyes? "Get out."

Well, perhaps he could have phrased that better. The soul was too aware of Lucifer's true nature and as such, was deeply sensitive to any sign of an ill temper. Once bitten, twice shy and all that nasty mortality business.

Not that that gave Brent the excuse to _squeak,_ honestly, it wasn't like a sharp word equated to the branding iron – although that was a favourite – or calling for another quarter turn on the rack – humans were so inventive - Brent had no need to leap for the elevator with quite so much alacrity.

Chloe pursed her lips in disapproval, but she didn't comment until Brent and his laptop, trailing cords behind him, were out of sight and out of eavesdropping range.

Lucifer consoled himself with another brandy. He might be willing to tell _her_ what she wanted to know, but he hadn't lowered himself to letting all and sundry in on the celestial gossip.

"Amenadiel is my younger brother," Lucifer vegan slowly, returning to his perch at the window, surveying his domain. "Younger in years and younger in power. He's from a much lower order than I."

#

A lower order. Chloe accepted the news stoically. She hated thinking of Lucifer as some sort of Mafia Don, but the evidence had been building up and she had to _know._

At this point, it was too late for anything but the truth. What was done was done, but she would have her answers. Kidnapping children certainly wasn't beyond the criminal element, and it hurt her right down to her bones to know that Lucifer was so deeply involved, or had been.

"A lower order," she repeated blandly. That said far too much about their level of organisation, and even more about Lucifer's own former position. No wonder Agent Johnson was so interested in Lucifer, she thought, making the connection bitterly. She'd thought it had been some strange obsession born from Lucifer's earlier flirting and mind whammy coupled with his shady past, but now she had to brood over whether the FBI knew more about Lucifer than she did.

What on earth was she going to do when her personal leave was over yet her oaths remained?

"He's a seraphim, one of many." Lucifer sighed, pain clear in his eyes. "And I," he paused. "I, am an Archangel. One of the seven who were Created by my Father in the Beginning."

It was the height of irony to organise a crime syndicate after the heavenly ranks, but clearly, somebody had a sense of humour. The imaginary family feud was probably not so imaginary. She felt a flash of guilt for her earlier teasing and quickly squashed it, committing every word to memory. What she would do with the information… she didn't want to think about that either.

"You left," Chloe prompted.

He _can't_ have been so bad then, she told herself hopefully. Lucifer had _left._ He'd gotten out, or tried to anyway. Amenadiel must have tracked him down. Perhaps if she convinced him to make a deal with the authorities – he did like his deals – then he might stay out of jail and they could. Could what? She asked herself spitefully. Continuing working cases? Pretend nothing had changed? Get Lucifer to charm the police into letting him keep his job?

"Yes, twice," he replied is a voice as hard as diamond. "For reasons I won't tell anybody, not even you." At that, he did turn to look at her and she almost wished he hadn't. His eyes were so cold. She couldn't meet that ageless gaze.

"Amenadiel found you," she said to the floor. "And somehow that led to Trixie."

Kidnapping children was common – but they were supposed to kidnap the children of the target. Lucifer must have at least a dozen the way he slept around – that wasn't fair. She closed her eyes and took a long steadying breath, walking over to join Lucifer at the window.

Meeting his eyes was much easier through a reflection and the city looked peaceful from up here.

"No woman refuses me, Chloe," Lucifer looked down at her fondly, picking up a lock of her hair and toying with it. She was growing far too used to his casual invasions of personal space since she let him with barely a narrowing of eyes for protest. "Amenadiel knows that."

"I refused."

"I know," he sounded disgusted. "Masochist."

She choked.

"You put up with Detective bloody Douche slobbering over you and panting, practically humping your leg but you turn down _me._ Me." He shook his head in amazement. "You _do_ know that I'd be the best you ever had, don't you?" He gave her a questioning look, "I'd assumed it was obvious, but perhaps you just need it explaining – " he actually sounded hopeful. The bastard.

"Trixie," Chloe hissed. She would _not_ be diverted.

Lucifer gave her a wounded look, like she'd stepped on a kitten. _His_ kitten, new-born, fluffy and mewling and –

"Trixie."

Mouth twisting wryly, eyes unchanging, he continued.

"Women, _normal_ women, who enjoy sex and _beg_ for a second night in my bed, even though they can't stand from the after-shocks of orgasm number-"

She stepped on his foot.

"You aren't gracing my bed, even though I'm ready for you at any time, detective," Lucifer added as if she wasn't well aware that he'd let her drag him into a car, a dusty storeroom, a filthy alleyway, a- "But I keep you around despite your strange freakishness anyway. That makes you special to anyone who knows what to look for. "

"Excuse you," Chloe grit her teeth. She kept _him_ around no matter how annoying, how obnoxious, how utterly oblivious he was of his own appalling vanity, because he was her partner. And occasionally useful. And she was possibly a tiny bit fond of him. He'd grown on her. Like a fungus. Or cancer. But she was definitely the one putting up with _him_ and not the other way around.

"Amenadiel was given an order to make me go back to Hell."

Chloe rearranged that using what she now knew of Lucifer's business. Amenadiel was sent to bring Lucifer back into the fold. No wonder he called it Hell, it was probably more fitting than she wanted to imagine.

"And so he immediately decided to kidnap Trixie? Some plan."

It seemed too strange to be real. It was bright daylight outside, the sun was shining, birds were singing somewhere, and here they stood, discussing the psychology of criminals whilst Trixie was suffering somewhere, out there and alone and afraid and she wasn't with her.

"You don't understand detective," Lucifer told her with unnerving gentleness. "My brother was given an _order_. How he accomplishes that order doesn't matter. Obedience is everything _upstairs_."

"Are you telling me he's brainwashed?" Chloe asked sceptically, eyebrows climbing.

"No, I'm telling you that my family is absolute. Absolute in a way you cannot comprehend. Humans are so…" he trailed off, waving a hand like that explained anything at all. "Confused." He beamed.

"Uh huh." The fond, patronising tone was unbelievably aggravating.

"And how does your family feud link in with The Collector. You aren't telling me that Amenadiel kidnapped and sold _all_ of those children."

Perhaps he _had_ if this was part of some larger scheme. Who knew how much money some foul cretin could earn from the whole damned business?

Lucifer didn't even pause. "Your sinner was in town already, Amenadiel just gave him the nudge. It's easy enough to do, and you, my dear, certainly fit this one's preferred tastes, it wouldn't have taken much at all. Amenadiel might even have considered the convenience a _sign._ "

She felt a shiver of unease. It was disturbing how easily Lucifer plotted out everyone's actions and reactions, like it was a game he'd made the rules for.

"My people know better than to fail me." He proclaimed with casual disinterest, and it was very much a proclamation. "They'd have found your spawn - if it was possible for them to do so. That they have failed underscores Amenadiel's particular brand of interference. Blasted pigeon."

Lucifer didn't lie.

Chloe _knew_ that, and so, there was really only one thing left to ask.

"Why?" It came out much smaller than she'd have liked. "Why?" She asked again, but it came out so little stronger that she needn't have bothered.

"Why do this for little old me?" His smile was kind.

She couldn't speak, and gave a tiny jerk of her head instead.

"I disobeyed," he replied simply.

"Lucifer, there isn't a rule in existence you won't break when it gets in your way," she snapped. "Why did it matter _this_ time?"

He looked shocked. At _her._

"Obedience is everything, detective, weren't you listening?" he eyed her as if baffled, "Oh, you're not getting sick are you? Don't you dare sneeze over me, this is Prada and I know you enjoy seeing me naked, but there's no need to ruin this suit too, I can just take it off if you want, or you could -"

She gave him a long hard look, and he fell silent, a faint smirk on his lips.

"When I said that my family were absolute, I meant it. I disobeyed. I am unique," the smirk wasn't so faint anymore. He held out his hands, as if to demonstrate his physical perfection, with a little hip wiggle as if she could miss him flaunting himself right in front of her.

Then he was serious again. "My siblings cannot even conceive the notion of disobedience detective. It is an abomination, and thus so am I. Something truly lost and foul. I _scare_ them, detective. And then, just to really terrify, I took myself out of the game entirely. Another new path, I really am quite the devilish trailblazer aren't I?" He grinned, pleased with himself, before abruptly sobering.

He gave her another gentle smile.

"Why would they hesitate committing a mortal crime in comparison to that?"

With a sickening flash, a fragment of memory came to her. Lucifer and Amenadiel arguing in the station earlier – was it really only that morning – what was it they'd said?

"It worked, didn't it?" Chloe asked, too shocked to stop her thoughts tumbling out of her mouth in a horrified rush. "You _did_ go back. That's where Lilith came from. Brent. Your searchers. All of your _people."_

"Yes."

He said it so easily, casually, as if it meant nothing at all. Yet Chloe knew it for an unspoken lie. The futile rage in his eyes told her everything. He despised going back to them. It was a surrender he loathed, and he hated even more that he'd needed it. Whatever favours and power he'd gathered since his leaving – they hadn't been enough and that _burned_ in him. Amenadiel had backed him into a corner – and it stung at his pride like nothing else.

All to help her. To fulfil his side of their bargain. Dear god, Chloe thought in amazement, Lucifer really was a man of his word. She could barely comprehend what it must have meant to him; admitting that he needed his former family after all of his moves towards independence. What had he lost, to help her?

"I'm sorry."

It was the wrong thing to say. Chloe knew it the second the words were spoken. His spine stiffened like he was a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

"Don't you dare apologise."

His voice was pure ice, and it cracked through the room like a cat o' nine tails.

"I am not your servant." He enunciated every word with sharp precision, drawing himself up sharply, mustering every inch of his considerable height, and glared down at her with eyes that looked like frozen stars.

It was easy to see what he'd been once and was again. A marble statue of implacable rage, merciless and oh so proud.

"It was my choice, and mine alone."

Chloe looked at him silently. Really looked, and her lips curved softly into an achingly gentle smile. She took a single step towards him, until they were breathing the same air and rose to her tiptoes. She tilted his face with both of her hands until she could look straight into those pools of pitiless wrath.

"Thank you, Lucifer Morningstar," she said quietly.

His response was just as quiet. His lips barely moved.

"You're welcome, Detective."

#


	11. Chapter 11

#

Forty five hours left.

Chloe stared blankly at the clock, sitting wrapped in a towel on the edge of the bed, just watching numbly. The second hand kept moving forwards. Tick tock. Tick tock. Chloe tilted her head as the movement of that fragile thread of plastic hypnotised her. Tick tock. Tick tock.

It didn't feel real.

How could she possibly accept that Trixie had less than two days left. She couldn't, but it didn't change anything. Trixie was still gone. Her entire body ached, a phantom pain. But it wasn't a limb she was missing, it was her daughter.

She'd rather lose the limb.

God she _hated_ feeling helpless. Her heart went out to all of the other families who'd suffered like she was suffering. Only now did she fully understand the origin of that saying. Her heart really did feel like it was pulling away from her in pain. At least she still had forty-five hours of heart-wrenching hope. They had a lifetime of regret and bitterness to slog through.

Better, she had Lucifer.

Chloe groaned, furiously rubbing her hair dry with a towel as she thought. Lucifer didn't lie, but he'd taken the half-truth, misdirection, assumption and implication to the arts.

So. She certainly believed that _Lucifer_ believed that Amenadiel was involved.

Would that help Trixie?

Maybe. If – and Chloe hated thinking about the mere possibility – if the deadline passed, then _maybe_ it wasn't over. If Lucifer had the kind of criminal connections she thought he did… the ones they were sidestepping openly acknowledging, then maybe he could track Trixie through the underworld. He would know how Amenadiel worked; Lucifer would know Amenadiel's superiors too probably. The thought had her stomach in knots.

She had to hold herself together for a bit longer. She had more hope than most.

It would still be too late by that point of course. These monsters would have… hurt Trixie… by then. They probably already had. The statistics were brutally honest. Trixie would be alive, but that was it. There was a world of trauma they could have inflicted by the time Chloe saw her again.

A tiny little voice inside her said that that was all Lucifer had risked promising, but Chloe was a good mother. That voice was promptly hung drawn and quartered.

Chloe stood, holding the towel up with one hand, and went to the overnight bag Mazikeen had broken into her house for. Honestly, that was Lucifer all over, she thought, deliberately letting her irritation drown her terror over Trixie.

It was kind to offer hospitality, Chloe admitted reluctantly, and Lucifer's idea of a guest bedroom was ludicrous for a place he never used. It was the sort of bedroom that belonged in a magazine display. Still, sending Mazikeen to break into her house _before_ asking if Chloe would like to hide out here for the next few nights, and then being so damned reasonable when he listed all the ways his apartment was a better idea was plain irritating. And wrong. He almost certainly had ulterior motives too.

Chloe trusted him, but she wasn't blind.

Tick tock.

Teeth gritted, Chloe rummaged for a clean set of clothes. A shower had been just what she needed to clear her head a bit and wake her up, but it was time to get back out there and do something. Anything.

She should probably call Dan. She didn't really want to talk to him, but it was the right thing to do. Trixie's situation wasn't his fault. It just felt good to blame someone she could reach. She knew that, but the what-if's were haunting her.

What if Dan hadn't been late? What if he'd put his daughter first for once? What if she'd realised Dan was never going to change? What if she'd stopped giving him chances? What if she'd just sat down and told Trixie the truth, that Daddy would rather finish his paperwork than attend her play? Would it have made a difference? Maybe if she had, things would be different.

It was far too late for those sorts of thoughts, Chloe knew it, and it didn't change a thing. Nevertheless she'd loved him once, so she'd call. It would be easier to talk to him if she didn't have to look at him too.

As long as she didn't tell him where she was staying tonight, Chloe thought reluctantly. That would send him into a right fit and then they wouldn't get anything done at all.

Pulling out a fresh outfit, Chloe dug around in the bag for a moment before she realised what was missing.

Knowing exactly what she was going to find, Chloe marched over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. She took one look and promptly shut them again. Then she checked the chest of drawers and sighed, collapsing forward and letting her head bang against the wood.

 _That bastard._

#

"Boss?"

Lucifer acknowledged Brent's return with a glance.

"I have news?" The lilt in his voice made it a question and not a statement. Lucifer felt a vague urge to throttle the man. Yes, he was The Devil. No, he wasn't a monster. Blame God for giving him the job if you were going to blame anyone. He might take a little pride in his work from time to time, but there was no call for that sort of prejudice just because he worked in a different office to the rest of the Host.

His mouth twisted as he realised he was irritated. Emotions. They were gaining on him.

Lucifer knew and accepted that he was a creature of passion. He revelled in emotion usually. They were _fun._ Usually, of course, a tiny spark of a seraph wasn't thwarting him.

Oh when he got his hands on Amenadiel…

 _Plucked._ _Chicken_.

"B-B-Boss?"

Pulling his power back behind his skin, Lucifer waved his hacker-pet into the room. Connor had to walk right past Lucifer to get back to his desk, and it was no surprise when the mortal chose to give him a wide berth, circling around the side of the room instead.

Unable to resist such a lure of weakness, Lucifer waited until Connor was busy plugging in everything his earlier flight had pulled loose, before sidling silently up behind the man and dropping a hand on his shoulder.

Connor gave a startled jerk, most satisfying; somewhere between jumping a foot high and the rabbit-instinct to freeze and hope the fox thought you were just a really fluffy flower.

"News?" Lucifer purred, slowly shifting his hand from Connor's shoulder to start trailing across his exposed neck, goose bumps rising instantly at his touch. "I do hope it's _good_ news."

Oh yes, this was just what he needed; damned souls made the best stress relief.

Connor was as stiff as a statue beneath his hand. Cheerfully, Lucifer pressed himself up against Connor until they were back to chest, then, delighting in the gasp he inspired, Lucifer wrapped one steel arm about Connor's waist and hooked his chin over other man's shoulder.

"I, erm, I think we should wait for Ms. Decker," Connor said breathlessly. "I don't want to have to explain it twice?"

Lucifer ignored his stalling tactics and slid his hand down Connor's arm. Connor had a white-knuckled grip on the mouse, but Lucifer was persistent. He intertwined their fingers together scorning Connor's stiff uncooperativeness with a tiny application of strength.

"Have you been a good hacker hmm?" Lucifer murmured, breath ghosting over the back of Connor's neck, the hairs standing up like toy soldiers. "Or have you been slacking?"

Connor remained silent, skin going visibly clammy under Lucifer's attention. His heart beat wildly, Lucifer could _scent_ the fear drenching his prey, and he revelled in it.

Now thoroughly entertained, Lucifer used his position to watch the screen as his hand forced Connor's on the mouse, idly browsing the computer history. What he knew of computer coding wasn't much, but he made a note to learn it properly since it was proving so useful. Even so he had enough knowledge to double check what Connor had been up to, especially since Connor hadn't tried or hadn't thought to try hiding any of it.

Most of it was par for the course.

The rest…

Lucifer's laughter rung like a choir of angels throughout the room, the sound ambrosia for the soul. He was so amused he gave Connor an affectionate nuzzle before releasing him and stepping back, permitting him to collapse shakily into his chair and put his head between his knees.

"Survivalist videos?" Lucifer snickered, meandering over to the bar for a refreshing whisky. Feeling profoundly generous, he poured Connor a Coke. "Pet, Hell doesn't work that way. If you no longer fear a Neanderthal realm, it won't appear twice."

"Then how does it work?" Connor asked weakly, coming up for air and accepted the Coke gingerly, blinking with bemusement at Lucifer's mercurial temper. "I don't want to go back." If Lucifer hadn't been an archangel, he wouldn't have heard that last bit so quietly did he speak.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, and took a consoling taste of whisky. _Humans._ Always asking questions that they'd already been told the answers to.

"Lucifer!"

Chloe's growl instantly distracted him; Lucifer whirled about, charitably ignoring Connor's fervent prayer of thanks, and smiled widely. Her soul really was a bright one, underneath the faint skein of sin. He focused, wondering what precisely she'd -

"Eyes _up,"_ she snapped.

"Detective!" Lucifer scolded indulgently, but with eyes rising anyway, "I wasn't eyeing your breasts – although they are a very fine set my dear," he said quickly to reassure her, "I was admiring your soul. It's almost completely pure. Well _done_. Drink? It is after six now you know."

Chloe's face went into a spasm, and Lucifer frowned in concern. That was a new one. It wasn't one of her usual expressions. Not Lucifer-You-Handsome-Devil #3, or Why-Me #7, or even Are-You-Not-Human #2. Her hands twitched violently as if she were imagining wrapping them around his throat and Lucifer leaned forward eagerly, just in case.

Angry-sex was just fine with him. Perhaps that was what was wrong with her? Humans were so shy about their fetishes. Well she could do whatever she wanted to as long as she finally let him touch her.

She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and despite past disappointment, Lucifer let his hopes rise as she hauled him off away from the bar and Connor. A jacket, even Prada, was a cheap price to pay if it finally got her in the mood.

The Detective, however, seemed to live only to vex him. She did not drag him into a bedroom, hold him against a wall or even throw him onto the couch. No, she just moved him over to the windows, and for a breath, Lucifer wondered if she really did have an exhibitionist streak.

"I can't _believe you,_ " she began and Lucifer felt his wings droop, metaphysical feathers trailing over the floor.

Oh, this again. That was a no to the sex then. _Eugh._ He would _never_ understand her.

"You are such a tease," he accused mournfully.

#

Chloe blinked. A tease? _Her?_ "What?" she asked, and then held up a hand right in his face to hold him off. "No, don't start, I don't want to hear it."

"Not only," she started again, "do you make Mazikeen break into my house to steal my clothes, but-"

"-Would you have preferred new clothes?" Lucifer asked in his most helpful voice. "Because I have _several_ ideas in mind for you." He gave her a beaming smile as he threw her tirade off track. "There are outfits set aside for you in the wardrobe already, but I can call my tailor –

The reminder sent a flame of rage through her.

" _No_."

Lucifer leaned back and huffed, like she'd mortally offended him. The hypocrisy made her hands throb with the need to wrap them around his throat and _squeeze._

Chloe took a deep breath, double-checked that Brent wasn't eavesdropping and lowered her voice to a hiss.

"If you were going to send Mazikeen to commit crimes, couldn't you at least make sure she does a full job of it?"

That was as close as she would come to acknowledging what he'd done. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction otherwise.

Lucifer decided to go for wounded-innocence even as he eyed like she was speaking in tongues.

"Mazikeen is one of my best lieutenants. She'd never disobey a direct order."

Chloe deflated, feeling silly and a little embarrassed. Of course it wasn't deliberate. She was just stressed and venting at Lucifer because he was safe _._ It was so much easier to be annoyed over tiny things than it was to show her fear over Trixie. She straightened, started to apologise for acting so strangely when her eyes narrowed in suspicion and she halted them on the way back to the main area.

This was not your average-Joe. This was _Lucifer_. Lucifer who twisted words like yarn and could spin anything into a dozen different directions, a dozen different designs.

"What, _exactly_ , were her orders," Chloe asked suspiciously. She was no longer murderously frustrated, but she knew better than to let any misbehaviour on Lucifer's part pass without comment. He needed both the stick and the carrot, like training a puppy.

"To fetch you the supplies you'd need for a few nights stay. Why?"

"Nothing," Chloe said through gritted teeth and marched back over to the sofa, where she could watch Brent work, sitting with her arms folded tightly. "Nothing at all."

Lucifer tilted his head as he examined her. Unfortunately, he knew her as well as she did him.

"If she's displeased you, you may set her punishment," Lucifer said easily, sitting right beside her, checking his phone.

Chloe considered that sentence, and decided she'd misheard. Instead she glanced over to the computer screens, not really sure of what she ought to be looking at and saw Brent looking back at her. Alright, maybe she hadn't misheard. She shared an uneasy look with the hacker and went back to ignoring the shivery feeling inside of her.

She was uncomfortably certain that if she told Lucifer she wanted Mazikeen flogged, he'd do it and Mazikeen would accept it.

"No," Chloe said carefully. "Nothing's wrong."

"Lie," Lucifer sighed. "Connor," he called not raising his voice in the slightest and clicking his fingers in Brent's direction like he was summoning a dog, "now that the Detective is here to protect you, I want that update."

#

"Well, Julie?" Agent Johnson asked, striding into the conference room they'd repurposed for their HQ whilst they were in L.A. "How did the computer virus work out?"

Julie winced, and Johnson sighed. He hadn't had much hope, but a lost lead still stung. The Collector didn't make enough mistakes, and getting one step ahead was a break all on it's own.

"Well it's not a complete failure," Julie said slowly as the rest of the team filed in and took seats around the table, shadows beneath their eyes as the stress of another hopeless case weighing them down.

"I can confirm a few suspicions. The email address was newly created, false information in all the sign-up fields, and the email was sent from a mobile phone. I have the number, but it belongs to a burner phone that doesn't have GPS. He connected to the Internet over an unsecured public Wi-Fi, and I have the I.P address."

"That's good," Michael interrupted. "We can scan the nearby CCTV and get an image."

"We could," Julie agreed weakly. "But the I.P address is for a Starbucks. I've already requested their CCTV footage, but that email was sent just before four, and that shop is right in between two schools. It would have been packed. It will take too much time to get any useful information."

"It's something new," Johnson interrupted, determined to focus on the positive, and to keep the team's spirits from flagging. "This is the first chance we've had. The Collector didn't expect the bug, so he thinks he's safe. Maybe he didn't wear a hat, maybe he used a credit card, hell maybe he used his own rewards card. It's a chance and it's more than we've had before, well done, Beck. Now, Michaels, Price. What do you have for us?"

"Something's going on with Espinoza," Price said instantly. "I don't know what, but he's hiding something sir."

"I don't think it's related directly to this case," Michaels added slowly. "He definitely cares for his daughter, but there's some guilt there too. It might be about the wife."

"She blames him," Johnson shrugged. "It's hardly uncommon for a marriage to break over something like this, and they were already separated. Unless you suspect it's some sort of ploy to get her back? Marriages can be strengthened by a shared loss and a detective would know that."

"No," Price shook her head, ponytail fluttering. "I think he suspects someone. We all know there's a leak here. A cop or maybe someone with access to a cop's keys had to have driven that squad car. I think Espinoza knows who it is. That would explain the guilt, but it doesn't explain why he isn't talking."

Johnson thought it over. It wasn't the strongest link, but Price had good instincts and the experience to know which ones to follow.

"Alright, keep the pressure on him. Whoever our leak is, they have a motive. Ask about enemies. We don't have much time, so go hard. An inside accomplice is new for our perp, and new means we can learn something. The accomplice is our best lead and a much easier one to track than The Collector."

Johnson normally tried to avoid looking at the clock on these sorts of cases, but his eyes grazed past one anyway. Time was moving much too fast. They had less than two days to find this guy before the girl was worse than dead.

"Beck, I need you to look into financial records. We know The Collector has money. Maybe someone here took a bribe. I want a list of everyone with access to the carpool keys. Officers, secretaries, interns, janitors, repairmen, deliverymen – anyone who could have walked in here without comment. Cross-reference them with the lists from his other targets. Maybe there's a link. Price, you're on Espinoza. Michael – you and I are going over that CCTV footage. We know when he sent the email so it's just a matter of eliminating faces on that timestamp. We'll get the staff to point out regulars, see if anyone was acting strange."

Michael nodded firmly, rubbing his hands down his face and through his hair. Johnson sympathised. He wasn't even close to retirement and he _ached_ with fatigue.

He made his voice strong. "We have forty-three hours people. Lets make the most of them."

#


	12. Chapter 12

A/N - So I've broken 1000 total followers and kudos since the last chapter. Thank you so much, your reviews have been amazing. Extra long chapter for the wait :)  
***

* * *

#

Price examined their main lead calmly. Cases involving children were always hard, but she was used to the strain and she'd known what she was signing up for. Detective Espinoza however, was clearly feeling the pressure.

He was in one of the smaller conference rooms, ostensibly for a spot of privacy, but really because Johnson wanted him isolated in case he got violent or tried to run and it made sure that no one could contact him without them knowing. The lines around his eyes were deepening with ever hour, and Espinoza ran his hands through his hair once every minute or so, occasionally leaping up to pace furiously around the room, and checking his phone constantly.

Was it worry, or was it guilt?

Price studied him carefully. This disguised interrogation was going to be difficult, and she hadn't yet decided if he'd be easier to crack if he was reassured or if he was pushed or a careful balance of the two.

She knew which she'd prefer… but effectiveness was the goal.

Would arresting him officially be useful? She no longer thought Espinoza had been directly involved with kidnapping his daughter, but the warrant was still valid, and Espinoza was the sort of man to find professional embarrassment worse than private ones. Letting his colleagues see him in handcuffs might help loosen his lips, but it was the kind of trump card that could only be played once.

He could just as easily shut his mouth and stop cooperating. Love for his daughter would probably override that wounded pride impulse, but they didn't seem very close, so maybe it wouldn't and by the time he was willing to talk, it would probably be too late.

Price took a few steps back as Espinoza got up again to pace. The conference room didn't have one-way mirrors, and though the blinds were mostly shut, she didn't want him to see her studying him.

She checked her hair, on instinct took it down, and re-arranged into Detective Decker's usual hairstyle. Luckily, they were both blonde. It might do nothing, but it might help her push him one way or the other.

Michael turned the corner at that moment, saw what she was doing and grinned, connecting the dots easily familiar as he was to her tactics.

"So, you're going for the soft approach?"

"Yes," Price nodded firmly. "Stay here and watch his reactions for me. Only interfere if I give the word."

"Sure, I have the warrant here, what do you want me to do with it?"

"Keep it hidden for now. If this doesn't crack him, we'll change approach. Ready?"

"Always."

She smiled, and headed inside.

"Detective?" She called gently, "I just have a few more questions?"

#

Dan was sat cooling his heels in a conference room feeling hassled and strained. He couldn't _believe_ Chloe. He'd thought she was better than that. But no, once again she'd walked out of the station with Lucifer Fucking Morningstar.

Freaking psychopath.

Why couldn't she see it? He was bad news but she just kept falling deeper and deeper into his spell.

"You know, I get it," Agent Price said sympathetically after they'd shared a quiet moment, "I've met Mr Morningstar too."

Dan grunted. He didn't want to talk about Lucifer. He wanted to bash some heads until he rescued Trixie.

"He's very attractive isn't he?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Dan knew right then he had to warn her before she became another Chloe. The last thing he needed was the freaking Feds distracted from finding his daughter.

"He's a psychopath," he said bluntly, hoping to shock her out of it.

"Oh come on, that's too harsh," Price laughed softly, shaking her head, blonde hair falling back over her face.

"It's the truth," Dan urged, leaning forward across the table and taking her hand in his. "Something is seriously wrong with that man and no one can see it! You need to be careful. He's _dangerous_."

He was getting through to her, he could tell.

"Dangerous?" Price frowned, "He's a civilian consultant. If you have some sort of evidence, this is something you ought to be telling your lieutenant."

Dan snorted and let go of her, slouching back in his chair. Talk to Olivia about Lucifer? Yeah right. He folded his arms.

"He's fucked her too," Dan replied shortly. Jesus fucking Christ this was a mess. How was he going to get rid of Lucifer if he'd already bedded all of his superiors?

"Too?"

His smile was bitter. This girl was pretty sharp.

"You saw my wife leave with him." Dan shook his head. For god's sake, they weren't even legally divorced yet, but every one _knew._ He seethed each and every time his friends stopped talking when he walked into the break room. Did Chloe have to make it that fucking obvious that she was cuckolding him? It was humiliating. Even Lucifer's usual parade of whores knew who Chloe was. The bombshell in the red had been the last straw as far as Dan was concerned. He was done with her.

"Ah, I see. I'm so sorry. That just isn't right, why my mother would have given me a right – well, never mind that just now. I wanted to ask if you'd had any thoughts on our previous conversation?"

"Enemies? Well, Chloe's made quite a few. Have you heard about Palmetto?" Dan asked interested despite himself.

Price nodded. Dan wasn't surprised; it was still pretty recent gossip and Chloe kept drawing attention to herself with her little stunts. People talked.

"Yeah, Chloe really ruffled feathers there with her snooping. It got pretty bad for a while there. She was nearly forced out of a job."

"Any names for me?" Price smiled encouragingly.

Dan shrugged, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. He knew he needed to guide the girl away from this topic and fast. "If only. It was all wrapped up. Tony of all people," Dan sighed. It was a shame, that, but what was done was done. "But he blew his brains out a couple a months back. Definitely not involved, and he's the only one I can think of."

"So Detective Decker was right all along huh? That must have stung."

Dan blinked, a little take aback by the throwaway comment. He shrugged it off.

"Yeah, she was. She's a stubborn one alright." Oh, the memories… if his grin was a little lecherous, well, she was his wife.

"And how long was she on the outs with your colleagues for?" Price asked, diligently writing notes.

"Er, well, ever since it happened really." Dan shifted in his seat. Palmetto had been what, nine months ago? Had it really been that long?

"And you just let her tough it out did you? Your own wife? Dinner must have been tense."

"Hey, it wasn't like that," Dan defended instantly. "I did what I could, but Chloe had to learn how to play the game eventually."

Price's smile was sympathetic.

"No wonder she's dating Mr Morningstar then. How'd that make you feel, Dan?"

Suddenly the girl – no, the FBI Agent – wasn't smiling anymore. Dan didn't like the way she was looking at him either. It made him feel cold inside.

"No wonder?" He tried, "The guy's insane!" Obviously, she hadn't been listening at all. Fucking Lucifer strikes again.

Holding up a hand, Price started ticking off qualities with a smirk, "Handsome, charming, rich, excellent in bed by all accounts," she raised a condescending eyebrow but Dan refused to feel inadequate. He'd heard that one too often before. "And I hear that he's good with Trixie too."

Dan felt a vein throb in his forehead and fought to keep his temper.

"I've been through this many times before, Dan. I can't tell you how often I've seen couples tear each other apart with the stress and the blame and the guilt. When I'm lucky though, I see a couple like that. They've really pulled together. It's the kind of thing that restores my faith in humanity." She shook her head seeming _fond_ of all things. "I've heard he's funded a reward for information – and it's not stingy. Mr Morningstar's barely left her side since she called him at god knows what hour yesterday morning. That's real commitment there, Dan. You don't do that much unless you _care_."

Dan fisted his hands under the table and gritted his teeth. It was too much.

"Oh yeah, and what good has it done? Where the _fuck_ is my daughter? Huh? Yeah, that's right, about to be sold raped and murdered. Brilliant assist there. Fuck you all very much. You're not here. You don't know what it's like."

Agent Price didn't even have the decency to flinch.

"What's its like for _you,_ you mean, Mr. Espinoza?" she replied as cool as a cucumber. "The reject? The office joke? Personally, I'd call that karma, but I suppose insecurity does explain your recent finances."

With that, she tossed a few sheets of paper on the desk between them – and Dan didn't have to look to know they were his bank statements. She tapped meaningfully on a few entries, helpfully highlighted in bright neon yellow.

"You've withdrawn huge amounts of cash, Dan. Between you and me, this is the sort of information the FBI find very interesting. It's looks suspicious, like you're preparing to run if nothing else. Or is this a mid-life crisis?"

Dan choked. " _What_?" He was hardly _middle-aged._

"It's not uncommon," Price said breezily. "Your wife moves on to better things, you feel abandoned and betrayed, your friends tease you, and you make yourself feel better about it all by buying things you can't afford. But you ran out, didn't you, so what happened Dan? Did you borrow dirty money? Miss a repayment? Is that why someone kidnapped Trixie? No offence to Detective Decker, but this is L.A. There are far more prominent people The Collector could have targeted. Unless of course, there were other motivations involved."

"I-, I-," Dan was speechless. He'd been lambasted with accusation after accusation and he hadn't been ready for any of it. He jumped to his feet, leaning over the desk and putting his fists on the table. "Stop harassing me and do your fucking job," he raged, looming over the woman. "I am _not_ involved. I'm a good man and a good cop, and the only think I want is my daughter back."

"Uh huh," Price agreed placidly, her hand tapping on the desk, she raised an eyebrow at him, absolutely unconcerned, the bitch.

"Price?" Michael poked his head around the door, knocking on it as he entered, "The warrants come through, do you want the honours or shall I?"

There were handcuffs glinting by his side.

Strength draining, Dan collapsed into his chair, feeling pale and shaky. He knew the statistics. Children were more likely to be kidnapped by a family member than a stranger, especially with a divorce on the horizon. Of course the Feds would – but Dan had never thought _he'd_ be – it was obvious wasn't it – they weren't listening - someone else had already taken credit – it had to be a mistake – he had an alibi – fuck fuck fuck – everyone was outside – what were they going to think – to say – oh shit – Chloe would hear – and fucking Lucifer and -

"Look," he offered desperately, palms outstretched, "I can explain. That cash was all for Malcolm, alright? Malcolm Graham. He's been blackmailing me for months."

#

Connor stood immediately, proving that he _had_ been eavesdropping, no matter what his headphones implied. He stood in front of where they were curled up on the couch – or at least, she was curled, Lucifer was doing his artful lounging thing that managed both elegance and a dangerous nonchalance. He probably practiced it.

Connor only sat down when Lucifer waved a hand permissively. Chloe tried not to let her expression give her distaste away, but she wished she hadn't seen that interaction. She'd resolved to keep her mouth shut until she Trixie back, unwilling to damage Lucifer's position unknowingly and waste time, but she didn't like what she'd seen of Lucifer's world and she hated being reminded of her selfishness.

"OK, so as you know I've been monitoring the FBI team as well as investigating myself," Connor began quickly, his voice reassuring confident. "I'm into the station's systems and everyone who is anyone's phones too, luckily. Well, it's not actually luck, it's skill but –" Connor looked up and quickly looked back down at his tablet and hurried on. "Anyway, the FBI team are constantly updating each other with texts and emails so I have a pretty good idea of what they've done."

"News item one, is that they've investigated Espinoza's finances and found about ten thousand dollars worth withdrawn in cash over the past two months. They used that and the warrant to pressure him and he's named names. Main one being Malcolm Graham – I've looked into it, and the guy's gone mad by what I can see. Spent all of his savings, running wild, and very hard up on cash right now. A dirty cop, and looks like he and Espinoza were in it together. He's made some sort of deal with the feds it seems, but he's confessed to a whole bunch of stuff."

Chloe let out a long slow sigh, and suddenly felt very old and very tired. She wrapped her arms around herself for comfort, and let her spine unwind, dropping her head into Lucifer's shoulder and appreciating, for once, the arm that instantly curled around her shoulders.

The hits just kept coming. It was almost too much for her mind to absorb.

She didn't doubt that Connor was telling the truth. It had been just that sort of a day. Dan. Her husband. Father of her child – and he'd betrayed her.

Why was she even surprised?

Dirty cop; which meant…

Oh god. Chloe groaned aloud and Connor's voice trailed off. Lucifer's arm around her tightened, but by then she was too lost in her thoughts to pay it any attention.

Malcolm was dirty. She'd been right. He _had_ been on the take that night at Palmetto. The vindication felt hollow amongst everything else.

Because there had been five men in that room.

If Malcolm and Dan were both dirty then – then Dan was the other shooter. He must have been in the passage, and he must have been _black_ with dirt to be told about that passage in the first place.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Five men had been in that shootout. Three had left in body bags, one in an ambulance, and Dan alone had walked out scot-free.

Had he come home injured? She couldn't remember any blood or anything, but obviously, Dan had been skilled at lying to her even then. She hadn't thought to doubt him, and without that suspicion, she wouldn't have paid close enough attention to know of any injuries.

Holy fuck. Dan was a murderer.

There had never been a ballistics report – another thing that had made Chloe suspicious. A cop had been _shot_ the department should have been all over it, raining hellfire and brimstone, but it had been swept under the rug or near enough.

Maybe there had been a ballistics report – god knows Chloe hadn't been let anywhere near the investigation such as it was after the first accusation had been made. What had it said?

Malcolm couldn't have killed all three gang bangers alone. It had all been so quick – but Chloe doubted Malcolm had had time to shoot all three before being shot himself. His aim wasn't that good.

Which brought her mind spiralling back to the point. Dan had to have killed _somebody_ in that room, statistically speaking if nothing else.

He'd been in the passage. Covering for Malcolm? Something had gone wrong? They'd shot Malcolm, and Dan tried to protect him?

It didn't matter, did it?

Either way they hadn't been there on official business. It hadn't been a sting, it wasn't the police against gang members there was no legal defence here. It was a deal gone wrong.

Dan was a murderer.

And he was her _husband._

She called herself a cop?

It was a sick joke.

Her husband – and no _wonder_ he'd pressured her at work and at home to keep her head down like it was OK to just let murderers walk free. No fucking wonder. Months she'd been outcast – months, and he hadn't said a _word._ Her life had been _Hell._ She'd been worst than an outcast, she'd been lower than a dog to the rest of that office – and Dan had let it happen. He'd encouraged it, piling the pressure on.

He'd left first. Told their colleagues she was obsessed. Made it all her fault in their eyes. They'd spat in her coffee, lost her paperwork, and would have tripped her in the corridor's if she hadn't been watching for it by then.

She'd nearly been fired a dozen times. She'd had to take the worst cases, upstairs just _looking_ for an excuse to fire her. She'd bent her head and said 'yes, sir, no sir, I understand sir,' and done her job even without the slightest bit of help or respect before Lucifer turned up. For fuck's sake she'd been reduced to begging her mother for a place to live rent-free, she'd been _that_ sure she was about to be fired and didn't dare take the risk of another year on the lease alone.

Dan had done that to her.

Worse, she'd gone right back to _Dan_ when she'd needed help investigating Malcolm. Dan who'd come back to her – after Lucifer appeared, naturally – and Dan who must have falsified evidence, lied, and fuck that meant Tony hadn't killed himself, he'd been murdered too and just how far did this all go? Dan had stolen that 911 key, the 911 key she'd discovered and asked him to investigate. How could she have been so stupid? He'd falsified evidence, and who knew what else.

He'd betrayed her. He'd lied to her. She'd trusted him. She'd believed him. She'd suffered because of him. Trixie had suffered.

Trixie.

Thoughts of her daughter who _needed her_ let Chloe draw herself out of her grey spiral of misery and back into her body, where Lucifer's voice greeted her return to sanity.

"Oh come now Detective. I know you're unnaturally attached to that creature but must you really ruin my shirt over him? It's Prada for Hell's sake. Why do you never ruin my _other_ suits? Do you have a grudge against Prada that I don't know about? I admit the man was a misogynist at best, and terrible in the sack mind you but – "

"You aren't even a little bit surprised?" She asked, tilting her chin from its position on his chest to peer up at him through perfectly dry eyes thank you very much. This wasn't a break down, just a hasty regroup before the next battle. "You've known Dan for over a year and this isn't even a little bit alarming?"

Lucifer actually rolled his eyes the insensitive bastard. Chloe didn't bother to resist the temptation to whack him on the arm. Amazingly, she felt calmer and her head seemed clearer just listening to his usual rant. This was familiar. This was safe.

"So the Detective Douche is revealed to be a douche. Yes, my dear, big surprise there."

Huh. Chloe leaned back and sat straight, eyeing him carefully.

No, no Lucifer wasn't surprised in the slightest. She knew he didn't care for Dan, but they'd spent hours and hours in each other's reluctant company. There ought to be _some_ reaction. And yet there really wasn't. Lucifer was acting… well, acting like he'd known all along.

…He had called Dan a douche from the beginning – but he couldn't possibly be implying – no, that was silly. Lucifer, perfectly reasonably, just wasn't as emotionally invested as she was and thus wasn't so affected.

Unfortunately, she just couldn't leave it alone. It was too good of a distraction for her inundated thoughts.

"You knew him for a dirty cop on sight then?" She scoffed, but her heart wasn't in it – and judging by his expression, he could tell.

"I know sin, Detective. In fact you might say that it's the family business."

Right she was stopping that right there. If Dan had had any under the table dealings with Lucifer's extended family, she didn't want to know.

"He'll pay for them Detective," Lucifer said. So certain was his faith that she felt drawn into his orbit. His will be done. Maybe Lucifer was a black hole in the shadow of the void or maybe he was a star blazing away in the heavens, either way, Chloe was just as certain as he, that getting too close would destroy her.

"Everyone must, in the end. There is a Judge."

It was not a guess.

She wanted to laugh. She really, really, did, Lucifer on another one of his rants… a masterful act… method acting… PR stunt… but even inside her own head she couldn't muster the energy.

For the first time, Chloe _wanted_ him to be right.

It wasn't _fair_. Dan had hurt her. When it came down to it, he'd really, really hurt her right in the soul and she just ached with the lies built on lies and soaked in murder and corruption and theft and…sin. Eugh, Lucifer's Luciferness was infectious. She shouldn't even be thinking that word around Lucifer, but there it was.

Sin. It was an ancient word, drenched in thousand of years of dogma, but it was the first one that came to mind when she thought of Dan and what he'd done to her and – hold on a sec – she was in pain, not stupid –

"What does this have to do with Trixie?" she asked Connor quietly, eyes ablaze but voice as rough as if she hadn't spoken in months. Any other day she'd be embarrassed about having a conversation like that in front of a stranger, but not today.

Connor didn't look to Lucifer before answering her.

"Malcolm's been identified as the leak within the department. There's a warrant for his arrest and the FBI are pretty sure he's the one who picked your daughter up from school and who worked with the Collector. Espinoza said Malcolm had been blackmailing him for cash – and there's an untraceable deposit in Malcolm's accounts. They think the Collector paid him off."

"Of course he did," Chloe replied flatly. Trixie had known Malcolm, not very well, but he'd worked with Dan so often they'd always been running into each other. Malcolm wouldn't even have needed to trick Trixie into the car; Dan had sent him for her before.

She would have trusted him.

#


	13. Chapter 13

#

This assignment had turned out to be so _dull._ Lilith sighed, eyeing the human that stared at her until he was forced to look away. Mostly dull, she corrected. Opportunities to torment men were always welcome. Her gaze returned to the factory in front of her, checking for any signs of angelic activity or the soul of a mortal child – her speciality.

Nothing, just the echoes of broken dreams and disappointments scattered about the cracked concrete and looming buildings. Nevertheless, Lilith slipped out of the mortal plane and jumped over the chain-link fence to search physically. If Amenadiel had somehow gained the ability to hide from Lucifer himself, then he could hide from her too. This was a futile search but orders were orders.

That much, at least, hadn't changed.

All of Hell had been curious about their Lord's absence. He wasn't in the habit of telling them where he was going or why, naturally, but a five-year absence had been abnormal to say the least. She had had such _hopes_ when he called for them. For _her_.

An entire Legion.

Lilith had been sure that the rumours had been true, that Lucifer had been planning some grand new strategy in their eternal cold war against Heaven. She'd been excited; the thrill of battle to come had propelled her up to Earth.

Disappointment did not sit well with her.

Lucifer had _not_ been busy with the war. There had been no clever trick, no new temptation and no grand plan.

Lucifer had spent the last five years _partying._

Lamia had faithfully reported back with all of her findings and, well, Lilith was frustrated. A nightclub made a fine headquarters for their Lord, a den of iniquity like no other – but he hadn't _done anything._ He'd blended in. He'd adapted. He _consulted_ for an organisation of law and order, apparently, and Lamia had been just as confused as Lilith still was over that.

Lucifer was so much _better_ than this.

Lilith growled softly as the Hellhounds tried to wonder off, forcing them to slink back towards her, forms wavering from shadow to dog to shadow again. Damned things were always trying to hunt down the souls that were heavy with sin, especially when they were still wrapped in all of that pesky flesh.

"Drop that greyhound look," Lilith told the biggest one firmly. You always had to be firm with them. They acknowledged only one Master, and were as stubborn as any other demon about being passed into a different command, no matter how temporary. "There will be absolutely no hunting without my express order. Are we clear?"

The hound sighed, loudly; sitting on its ever-shifting haunches with what Lilith could swear was a mocking air. But that was stupid. The beasts lacked intelligence, and nothing Lucifer said would persuade her otherwise.

A beep, and Lilith glanced down at the mortal contraption Mazikeen had given her, brightening to discover a message from Lucifer. These things were not as reliable as a good solid messenger imp, but they were certainly convenient when Hell was trying to limit the demonic presence on earth after such a big show of force.

She desperately wanted to know what Amenadiel had done.

Offsetting the Balance?

Heaven didn't do that lightly. Lilith scoffed. Heaven didn't do _anything_ lightly. They needed signed and sealed orders from Above to flap their wings. Self-righteous peacocks the lot of them.

Still, Lucifer was always in a better mood when the Balance was in Hell's favour, and Lilith concurred, especially when it allowed her the chance to play topside without a stuffy angel wielding a nasty holy blade getting up in her face about it.

666:- _Lilith darling, take the Hellhounds to hunt a resurrected soul. Malcolm Graham. Expect celestial inference. Keep it contained._

Sending a quick acknowledgement, Lilith turned to the Hellhounds and swore vehemently. A nearby tree withered from the poison her words spewed forth.

Those blasted _mutts_ had buggered off again. She whirled, searching them out with all of her senses - Lucifer would string her up by her _tongue_ if she – oh, typical. Just typical.

Now in the mortal disguise of three fluffed and primped _pugs,_ barely up to her ankle, pink bows and all – they had no shame – all three had managed to corner a mortal sinner. A female, Lilith noted as she sprinted, and a soul besmirched with grey streaks of sin.

Utterly blind and smiling like a simpleton, the woman was kneeling down to _pet_ the tasteless beasts when Lilith slid to a graceful stop beside them and hauled them off. Idiot! She'd practically offered her _throat_ bending down like that!

Humans.

"So sorry," Lilith lied, smiling in a nice, kind human fashion as she gave the whimpering Hellhound a sharp pinch behind the neck. "They don't react well to strangers, bad breeding and all."

The woman paused, looking between Lilith and the infernal beasts with confusion and suspicion.

Cursing her luck – Lucifer _had_ warned her of divine intervention after all – Lilith kept smiling, trying to ignore that her current outfit was a far cry from what she'd worn earlier to make a good impression on Lucifer.

Despite not being on Earth for a few decades, Lilith was pretty sure that a female in black combat leathers from head to toe and solid boots did not, in fact, blend well with three mewling toy dogs bedecked in lashes of pink ribbon, to say nothing of the knives.

"Right," the woman said slowly, rising and brushing her clothes down. "No harm done. I'll just be… off. Bye!"

She turned, finally showed the sense God gave a lamb, and started a brisk walk. Once she'd turned the corner, the sound of running footsteps reached Lilith's ears and she had to give Before a firm smack to keep her from chasing after. Fool, didn't she know better than to run?

"Stop _drooling_ mongrel." Lilith ordered sharply, letting the growling wash off of her. Lucifer had spoken. Perhaps this assignment would end up fun after all.

"We have new orders."

#

"Well then," Lucifer said, rising and clapping his hands together, "There's just time for dinner before you'll need to change."

Chloe stared after him as he moved towards the kitchen, her head feeling muzzy and her thoughts slow as she tried to process all she'd learned.

"Change? Change for what?"

"Lux opens soon, Detective, we've got _work_ to do."

Chloe drew up short – she hadn't spared a single thought for Lucifer's business throughout all of this. Everything had just been so frantic. Lucifer had come when she called, and had barely left her side. She felt a little disturbed to realise she hadn't expected anything else.

She'd _known_ that he would come. Really known, as in hadn't even thought that there might be another possible option, known. She'd interrupted him mid-playtime and known he wouldn't hang up; known he wouldn't say, 'just give me ten minutes detective and I'm all yours.'

And he hadn't. He'd come to the station at four in the morning for her; ready to help and… somehow, that had registered as _normal_ in her mind.

The sense of vertigo was off-putting. Had she been well, a bit egotistic? Lucifer had many responsibilities. She knew that. He was effectively her partner, even if he was listed as only a civilian consultant, and that meant he worked two fulltime jobs, not including when he found the time to trade favours. Was it selfish to assume that Lux was a non-issue right now? Was it selfish that she'd assumed, like she always did apparently – and she'd freak over that later - that he would stay with her until this was over?

It was weird to feel guilty of all things, but she did. The world didn't stop on her command – and it wasn't like they had much of a lead to follow right now. The FBI would do a far better job of tracking Malcolm than they could, and she'd get the results of that interrogation anyway through Connor. They couldn't keep her out of the loop anymore.

"Lucifer, I know you have a business to run, but I'm really not in the mood to party. I'll just get an early night," she said a little awkwardly. What _was_ the right thing to do or think in this situation?

He better not bring a woman tonight. Or women. Or men. Not when she'd be able to hear them going at it. Chloe doubted she was getting any sleep tonight, with the clocks mocking her all night long, but she'd still kill him if he dared.

"Party? No no, detective, you're going to be _bait_."

Instantly she felt better.

Lucifer was callous everybody else – not her. Not deliberately. She shouldn't have doubted him, not when he came up with such interesting plans. He usually acted completely outside of procedure, driving her absolutely nuts, but her clearing rate had skyrocketed since he'd become her partner. It had done a lot to fix her reputation with the higher-ups.

Besides, she was technically on leave, so…

"Bait for who or what?" She asked, sitting down at the bar so she could watch him in the kitchen, utterly unsurprised to find him wearing a _kiss the cook_ apron over his latest suit.

"I've told you before, Detective. These cretins like to watch. Weren't you listening?"

"I was listening," Chloe defended, watching intently as Lucifer started pulling out ingredients. "You _cook?"_

"You don't?"

"I thought you lived on whisky, sex and condescension," Chloe mused, eyeing the knife Lucifer fondled with a terrifyingly casual amount of skill. Who knew chopping vegetables could look so threatening?

Lucifer gave her a wicked grin.

"Bait," Chloe interrupted hastily before he could say whatever it was that he was thinking.

"Hmm," Lucifer agreed, cracking eggs into a pan and whisking. "Yes, well, by now everyone should know you're staying with me. Lux's doors will be wide open and I've already given the bouncers their orders. Someone will come, detective. The compulsion will be impossible to resist now that I've deprived them of their usual show."

Chloe narrowed her eyes; ignoring the all-too-familiar eerie chill at the sheer knowing certainty that Lucifer managed to emanate, even with the apron. "How, _precisely_ , does anyone know I'm staying with you? I didn't exactly mention it at the water cooler."

"I did," Lucifer beamed, "Given your colleagues ability to keep a secret – well, we ought to have a devil of a time tonight. Not to worry, my dear. I've already seen to your dress."

Before she could stab him with a fork, he put a plate down in front of her. The scent of food hit Chloe like a truck, reminding her that she couldn't remember her last meal. That unfortunate phrase of thought meant she didn't particularly want to eat anything again, ever, but she didn't want to see the fuss Lucifer would make if she tried to refuse, so she found herself taking a bite, finding it settling irritatingly well into her twisting stomach.

It hadn't escaped her notice that Lucifer had only cooked for one.

"What's the plan?"

"I was thinking a short dress and high heels," Lucifer gave her a once over before meeting her eyes head-on; smirk blinding with intent as he slowly peeled the apron off. Chloe met his gaze evenly. Lucifer's regard never set off the warning bells in the back of her mind, like those of other men and despite his playboy attitude. Lucifer didn't objectify – he revelled.

"Drowning my sorrows? Drunk and vulnerable?" The last thing she wanted to do was drink, but she could see where Lucifer was coming from. She'd be ordering water in a cocktail glass though – god help her if she started to drink before this was over.

"Quite. We're going to have _so_ much fun."

Chloe paused, some old wound tugging at her mind until she spoke.

"Is that it?"

"Isn't it enough?"

Chloe shook her head and quickly ate the rest of her omelette. Lucifer wasn't always easy to work with, but he was certainly different. Her other colleagues, even Dan, would have kept on for ages, said not to worry – they'd be there to protect her. No one was getting close; she was just there to draw someone in. They'd take care of the rest, interspersed with advice she hadn't needed in years.

Lucifer wasn't like that. He'd thought of a plan, he'd told her, they'd discussed it, she'd agreed and it was done. He… trusted her? Her abilities? It was nice - something to think on another time, Chloe decided and put the matter out of her mind altogether.

When he grinned at her – the pleasure of the hunt clear in his eyes – she grinned back.

#

Vaguely wondering just how far Lucifer could plan ahead, Chloe eyed the lingerie in the dresser. The dress he'd just happened to have in her size, was blood red – his colour. Chloe didn't bother to hide her rolling eyes when he pulled it out with much ado and flourishing, and she'd pushed him out the door to change, ignoring his protests.

 _I won't peek indeed._

She wasn't exactly hesitating. God knew she'd do whatever it took to get Trixie, and she'd already thrown her lot in with Lucifer. She wouldn't back out now. She knew she was going to wear the lingerie that was kept 'for storage' in the guest room. She had to, as the dress wouldn't work with her current one; Chloe was just… hesitating.

Self-loathing filled her. A wave of emotion so intense she had to sit down quickly on the bed, the dress scrunched beneath clenched fists. Trixie was _suffering_ , and here she was primping and plumping for what was technically a night out. Thinking about make-up and if she had a matching lipstick when her _daughter…_ It was _wrong,_ so wrong, but it was a _chance_ , and what sort of mother would she be if she couldn't endure a few hours of pretence?

This was just another role.

Chloe changed with quiet deliberation. She brought out the lingerie, tugged it off the hanger without looking at any labels and eased it on like it was armour. It _was_ armour. Because this was a costume for a role.

The dress… well, she was meant to be bait. She had to look the part, didn't she?

Chloe focused on her hair, glad that she could get away with her current mess and make it look intentional. Then it was on the high heels she'd never be able to run in, and make-up.

She, guiltily, didn't meet her reflection's eye as she lined her eyes, brushing on primer and colour and accent and shadow.

Armour. Role. Costume.

#

When she walked out to the main living area, as graceful as a fawn on oiled ice, Connor took her in from head to toe in one long look, met her eye, went chalk white and then spun in his chair so fast that he made a full circle before he could grab the desk and stop his momentum.

"I can't look that bad," Chloe said, carefully making her way over to him. Ignoring the way his head drooped and his shoulders hunched high in resigned defeat.

Marble may look good, but it didn't mix well with high-heeled shoes, and it mixed even worse with her _in_ said high-heels. Mazikeen better be on duty tonight, because unless Chloe wanted to stab someone within two feet of her with a good kick, she was going to be useless in a fight.

There was a meaningful pause.

"You look fine," Connor said flatly, "Beautiful, even," he admitted as if it was dragged from the depths of his lungs with a rusty chain. "Not," he added swiftly, managing his first darting glance at her, 'That I am, in any way, hitting on you. I would," he said, rushing as if to reassure her, "I'm not saying your ugly or anything."

He cringed.

"I want to make myself very clear." He tried again. "You are eminently desirable, but I am neither stupid enough nor suicidal enough to try anything with you, ever, and I don't want any trouble."

It was not the strangest compliment she'd ever received, Chloe reflected in the pursuing void of conversation and aura of social awkwardness, but it was up there.

"Thank you. I think."

Connor just looked relieved that the moment had passed.

"Oh good – cause the Boss, you know?"

"We're not together?" Chloe ventured cautiously. She barely knew the man but Connor seemed a bit fragile and she ought to set the record straight before she had to think about why someone would have to be suicidal to pay her a compliment.

"Sure," said Connor weakly, "Right, because he'll do all of this for anyone who asks. Because he's such a good person."

Prudently, Chloe decided she was going to disregard that, and quietly added it to the strong box of things in her mind to think about much later, or not think about at all, depending.

"What are you working on?" Changing the topic seemed like a good idea, and it was the first thing to come to mind. There were five separate screens in front of the hacker, and whilst Chloe could see that two of them were for monitoring a CCTV network, the other three she could only guess at.

"Oh those are a scan for facial recognition. I've got access to the Lux cameras and others nearby. Anyone comes in with a record – I'll know."

"What database are you matching them against?"

"The usual government ones," Connor replied absently, clicking away and copying and pasting a whole section of code from a document onto another screen.

 _Hacker._ Right. The clue was in the name. Chloe would bang her head against the table, but then she'd have to re-do her makeup and it wasn't worth the effort.

"If you get caught you'll go to prison," Chloe warned. She knew she ought to be making a bigger deal of this, but she just couldn't muster the energy. She'd already had that debate with herself and had made her decision. She'd see this through.

"I won't get caught," said Connor, arrogance giving him his colour back. "And even if I do, someone will press me into service so I'll never see the inside of a cell."

Well, she'd tried? Conscious squawking, Chloe moved on.

"What about those other screens?"

"Oh, those, er, don't take this the wrong way but I'm not allowed to tell you."

"Lucifer said that?"

Hurt was probably the wrong emotion to feel – but Chloe felt it anyway. Hadn't she already proved that she trusted Lucifer? That he could trust her in turn? For gods sake Connor had just confessed crimes to her and she'd done _nothing._ If that wasn't enough…

"It's not about trust."

She jumped, nearly falling on her arse when her shoes slipped out from under her. Lucifer caught her in his arms, because he was just that sort of a bastard. The floor would have been kinder.

"Why Detective," Lucifer gloried, his arms pillars of rock around and under her. "I knew you'd fall for me eventually."

"Talk." Ice could have learned colder tricks from her voice as she dared him to lie.

"If it doesn't work out," Lucifer replied with damning sincerity, "I didn't want you to be upset. I still don't. Let it go."

The bastard was still supporting her, arms around her waist, and honest face with warm brown eyes within biting distance. Chloe looked long and hard into his eyes – and let it go, not even allowing herself to _think_ about why.

He was right – it wasn't about trust. It had never been about trust between them.

"Where are Mazikeen and Lilith?"

It wasn't exactly a test, Chloe told herself, as she straightened, Lucifer arms reluctantly releasing her as she found her feet, but she'd noticed the absence of that pair, and alarms had started ringing inside her mind a while ago.

"Mazikeen is hunting Amenadiel," Lucifer told her. Something hard, cold, and tight in her chest eased at the straightforward answer. Lucifer never lied. "Lilith is out with the hounds."

"I thought they couldn't find Trixie's trail."

"She's not hunting for the spawn, detective."

There was something in his voice, Chloe thought, some intonation or weight that had her backing off. She'd made her choice, after all, and she'd live with the consequences after she had her daughter in her arms once more.

For the second time that night, she let it go.

"Are we ready?"

Lucifer had changed too – a new suit, black as night with a deep red shirt that just happened to match her dress, the top few buttons left undone.

"We are," Lucifer purred. "Show time, detective."

#

Critique and comments so very welcome :)


	14. Chapter 14

Happy New Year everyone :)

#

"Hands in the air Malcolm, you're under arrest!"

The diner was almost empty this late at night, just a small smattering of other patrons and their suspect. Nevertheless, those infamous words prompted a veritable flood, and not a single scruffy or worn customer wasted time in scurrying out the door, some choosing to avoid the agents and leave via the kitchen, abandoning cups of still steaming coffee in their haste.

That left a lone duty waitress behind the counter, and Malcolm Graham.

Graham appeared absolutely unaffected by the presence of the FBI team out to detain him; he waved a hand at them in vague acknowledgement of the guns at his back and carried on eating.

Agent Johnson felt his heart give a sympathetic squeeze as he took in the smorgasbord of sugary treats arrayed out in front of their suspect and mentally revised eating up to _gorging_. The array of empty dishes to one side only made the tableau worse.

"Hands _up!"_

"I heard you the first time. Have you tried the pie? _So good._ " Another slice disappeared, Malcolm reaching greedily for his next plate over a stack of dirty ones piled haphazardly in front of him.

It wasn't the first time Johnson had seen such behaviour. Mr. Graham must have been tipped off in time to start this spree, knowing the jig was up. Either there was another leak, or Graham still had friends. He wondered if that would last. Dirty cops lost them fast once word spread, and it would spread fast since the team had had to use local forces to cover the back entrance of the diner.

They knew whom they'd come to arrest.

"Settle up, Malcolm," Agent Johnson ordered, because that display of gluttony had to be pricey and there was no need to make the waitress' shift any worse.

"You have a lot of questions to answer."

#

The club was packed despite the fairly early hour. Chloe wondered, fondly exasperated, if it was ever _not_ packed. Five years and more since it's opening, Lux was still a hot spot. A _classy_ hot spot, favoured by the rich, the famous and the powerful.

She no longer had to wonder _why._ Given the social disasters Lucifer left in his wake, she'd always been baffled by the numbers of movers and shakers that favoured Lux _._ Now of course, she knew. How many of those people had come to specifically to see Lucifer? How many had done him favours? How many had he returned? _What_ favours?

Perched on a barstool at the very end of the bar, Chloe toyed with her glass and let her thoughts wonder as she swept keen eyes over the heaving room.

Playing bait was not particularly difficult, but it was boring. She had no interest in drinking or dancing, the music wasn't calling to her, and she was exhausted.

The plan was a good one though, and she trusted Lucifer. His skill at reading people – undoubtedly involved in his mind tricks somehow, it couldn't all be cold reading surely – was irrefutable. If he said someone would come to snoop, to watch her, and to gloat, then they really would, and sitting down here instead of bothering Connor for updates would be worth it.

"Another?"

Chloe smiled faintly at the new bartender, as she put another water in front of her, complete with an olive and martini glass.

"Thank you, any news?" She didn't bother to keep her voice quiet – Lux wasn't the type of club to be insufferably loud, but it was still a club, and there were enough conversations going around to mask their own.

Lamia shook her head silently, eyes scanning the room. Her gaze lingered on the centre of the dance floor where Lucifer was currently entertaining several women, and warmth filled them.

Chloe had her back to that part of the club. For no particular reason, she just didn't want to watch Lucifer's cavorting. Besides, right here at the bar set the scene nicely for anyone watching her. She was near to the back door, visible from any side of the room, and the only table behind her was manned by two more of Lucifer's… female employees.

"How long have you worked for him?"

Chloe had resolved to shelve all non-Trixie issues, but she was still a cop, and still curious. Her need to understand the man to whom she'd entrusted Trixie's life had rocketed to the top of her priority list.

"For as long as I can remember."

A non-answer.

This conversation had barely begun and Chloe was already strongly reminded of Mazikeen. She'd suspected that Lamia, plus the two behind her, were also ninja-trained, or whatever the hell it was that Mazikeen did, but now she was bordering on confident.

Where, in god's name, did Lucifer find these people? Had he saved the life of some sort of clan heir, gaining undying servitude in return? No, wait - that had been a movie plot.

"Thank you for coming when Lucifer called, I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

Lamia looked scandalised, which was at least a nugget of information even if Chloe didn't know what it was yet. "Why does troubling us matter? Lucifer called."

 _And of course we came_ went unsaid. Chloe heard it anyway and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't actually want to offend her newest source.

People who actually _knew_ Lucifer were few and far between. Mazikeen and Amenadiel had been the only two she knew of. Mazikeen was loyal, and trying to weasel any information out of her always gave Chloe a headache. As for Amenadiel – well, whether he was involved or not, he wasn't here, and they'd never spoken much anyway.

A round of female giggling chorused behind Chloe, and she hunched her shoulders.

"Is that him?"

"Oh my, did you get a look?"

"Those _legs._ "

"Those _eyes._ What I wouldn't give – "

"Have you heard the rumours about him? Three women in one bed, and not a one left unsatisfied."

"That's nothing. Britney told _me_ that-"

"-really do mean _all night long,_ and _then_ –"

Watching Lamia stumbled her way through operating a till did nothing to drown out the giggling gossips a few stalls over.

Salacious rumour must make up the other half of Lux's popularity, Chloe groused. There was nothing this crowd, a crowd she was all too familiar with thanks to her mother, loved more than a good bit of gossip, and Lucifer was a character alright.

She gave in to the inevitable and twisted in her seat to watch Lucifer work. He wasn't playing the piano tonight. Instead he… held court.

It was the only word for it as he perched on a table, a glass of whisky in one hand and a redhead in the other. Three girls cavorted two feet in front of him whilst he chatted with a small group of men. Lucifer said something; the men laughed; the redhead giggled.

Chloe couldn't even begin to understand the phenomenon. Lucifer was handsome, sure, charming on occasion perhaps, but he was _Lucifer._ Maybe they were here for business?

"He will not stray in his affections."

The comment made Chloe spin back to Lamia, nearly toppling off the stool in the process.

"Not when you've given him a child," Lamia continued, shaking a cocktail and pouring it out with deft hands, passing it off to another bartender to serve.

Her glass cracked.

"Why," Chloe said flatly, setting the broken glass down on the bar with infinite care, "Does everyone think Trixie is Lucifer's daughter?"

It hurt to say Trixie's name. She hadn't expected that.

Lamia stilled.

"She isn't?"

Chloe shook her head, slowly, watching Lamia very carefully. That had been telling. Lamia had revealed another one of those nuggets, she just knew it, and unfortunately she had no idea what it all _meant._

"My ex-husband is her father," Chloe added leadingly when it became apparent that Lamia was not going to speak any further. "Lucifer has only been in L.A for five years or so, and Trixie is eight years old." Why was she trying to convince the other woman?

The horrible thought that Trixie might always be eight got stuck in her head and refused to leave.

"Travelling is very easy for our – for Lucifer. Did he not seduce you? Did you not have an affair? Lucifer is very persuasive, it's no sin to admit to it, not here, not now and not to me. He has always liked married women, and you _were_ married in a church."

"Right," Chloe said, resigned to the crazy, deciding not to ask how Lamia knew where she'd been married on the insistence of her mother-in-law. "Because that makes sense. No, Trixie isn't his, for the _last time_. Why would it matter?"

Slowly, Lamia looked from her to Lucifer, who had dismissed his courtiers for another group of fawning acolytes.

"I have worked for Lucifer for a very long time," Lamia began. "Those of us who are close to him, or aspire to be, have always paid close attention to his moods, his habits," she frowned. "I have never known him to act as he has without clear personal motivation. If Beatrice is not his own, why does he care?" She gave Chloe a frank once-over.

"You must be an exceptional mistress. I congratulate you on your skills."

"Funnily enough," Chloe said dryly, "I have other talents, despite my being a woman." It was sad really, that she no longer found these ways of thinking shocking.

A man goes out of his way to help a woman – they're sleeping together. Naturally, a favour had to go both ways and all that a woman ever had was her body. No thought that she could have been paying Lucifer a fortune, had influence at the mayor's office he wanted used on his behalf or even her job as a police officer offering him some other benefit. Nope, it had to be about sex.

"Getting along are we? Excellent." Lucifer purred, appearing at her side, one arm snaking around her waist like it belonged there. Chloe elbowed him in the ribs for it as she ignored the weight of Lamia's confusion.

"Right." Chloe sipped her water. "Seen anything yet?"

"Oh yes. _Identical twins_ Detective! Do you know I haven't had twins in _years._ Triplets, yes, but there's something to be said for the classics, I-"

Despite knowing better, Chloe tuned out Lucifer's delighted ramble, and had to do a double take when her subconscious prodded her, sharply.

"Wait, what?"

Lucifer sighed, giving her a woeful mien that he had to have learned from Trixie. It was a strange kind of fond pain to see it on his face instead of hers. "I _said_ that the man in the red shirt is the one we want. Mercenary, if I'm any judge, which I am, by the way, capital 'j' too. He'll approach you when his reporter date distracts me. Not a bad tactic, I suppose. A little simplistic, perhaps," he shrugged, and Chloe read _but what can you expect from mortals_ in the gesture.

Chloe followed the tilt of Lucifer's head, subtly eyeing that side of the room until her eyes landed on a short blonde woman, standing alone against a wall, and eyeing Lucifer hungrily.

"A reporter, here?" Chloe felt a little queasy. What would they write about her if they found her in a club when Trixie was kidnapped? Nothing good. Oh God. They'd never believe this was a trap. And, worse, it was _Lucifer's_ club who everyone thought she was sleeping with. What would _Dan_ say? And why should she care what that _selfish_ -

"Millie, from the Star I believe it was."

The name clicked, drawing Chloe out of her spiral of self-flagellation into much more familiar exasperation.

"Millie." It was not a question. "The one you slept with. On my couch."

"Don't worry, Detective. I don't want seconds."

Strangling Lucifer wouldn't fix anything. Even if she'd feel _so damn good_ doing it.

"I want to strangle you," Chloe hissed. Better out than in, and all that. "Preferably _on_ that same couch. I'm going to need a fumigator too. Which you are paying for."

"Detective," Lucifer chided softly, and Chloe looked over at him, surprised and annoyed. After all of the things _he_ said and did in _broad daylight_ and in _public_ she couldn't –

Oh, dear.

Lucifer was staring at her, eyes dark in the dim lights of the club, but not dark enough to hide the dilated pupils, the clench of his hand upon his glass, and the bar behind him.

There were _dents_ in the wood.

It was probably cheap plywood. Practically saw dust. Anyone could have – but Lucifer had seriously high standards, and if it wasn't marble or mahogany she'd eat her boots – done that. Anyone. Even _she_ could, not that she was going to try. That would just be silly.

"I can't believe you," Chloe tore her eyes away, and back to the glass in her hands. Her heart was racing but she ignored that too. "Three seconds ago you were focused on another woman and now you're-" she made a vague gesture that encompassed his body from head to toe, unable to say the words she was thinking, otherwise they'd have to talk about it.

 _Picturing me in your bed, having wild sex with you, and god it would probably be fantastic wouldn't it? No smoke without fire. There has to be some truth in all of those rumours and -_

Not good. They were just friends, and friends was so much safer.

"So _that's_ your dirty little secret. I should have _known."_ He relished the words, and she was grateful not to have to look at him as he crowed, waves of delight pouring off of him like light. _"_ I _thought_ I sensed something like that earlier. Oh but Detective, well played, I must say." He purred, stepping closer and leaning down, to whisper in her ear. "Springing something positively _naughty_ on me when we're in the middle of a hunt? I was beginning to think you weren't interested."

Now she really wanted to strangle him, and if she did, it would only make things worse. Oh god, how was this her life? What had she ever done to deserve _Lucifer?_ She pressed her palms flat on the bar; carefully focusing on the curl and flex of her fingers, not Lucifer's presence, too close to her neck.

Well, she had to try and fix this, _now_ before his stubborn mind fixated on the idea.

"I'm not interested, at all. It was just an expression."

"-The stallion is raring to go-"

"Absolutely not."

"-The fires are burning-"

"Still a no."

" – straining on the leash –"

There was only one thing left to try.

"Oh dear God."

Lucifer pulled up short, nose wrinkling and Chloe congratulated herself on her victory.

"Really, Detective, did you have to mention _him_?"

"What's the plan?" Chloe asked, her mind back on business.

"All you have to do is talk to him, his orders will be about provoking reactions from you. He's a grunt, not the mastermind. There'll be a camera on him. If he's bad at his job, he'll try to sleep with you – good luck to him _there_ – and that means leaving, probably through the back exit into the alley where some of mine are waiting. Try and _pump_ him for information whilst he thinks he's won, but your main task is already done. I know who he is, now. Are you ready?"

Chloe nodded.

"Happy hunting, my dear."

Lucifer looked over at the reporter again, obviously this time, and smirked, straightening he left Chloe with a clap on the shoulder and stalked over to the woman, every nuance in him screaming _target acquired._ Chloe gave credit where it was due – the man was a damn fine actor. If he hadn't just told her what he was going to do, she'd have fully believed he was up to his usual antics.

It happened exactly as Lucifer said it would.

The reporter, who Chloe watched in the reflection of the mirror above the bar, grinned when she spotted Lucifer coming towards here. A grin that was too smug for Chloe's liking – and a well-muscled man in a neat red shirt slid into the barstool next to her.

Mercenary, Lucifer had said.

That wasn't in the profile. The Collector was one psychopath, not an… organisation?

It was easy to keep calm in Lux. Lamia was a ninja, the two woman behind her were ninja, Lucifer was right there, and this was just a game.

"Another drink for the lady," the man said, a low baritone. The muscles could have been vanity, but the scars on his knuckles had never come from a gym.

Chloe smiled at him slowly, grateful but tired, letting the role consume her.

"Thank you. It's been a long day."

#

"Sir, we have a problem."

"What is it now?" Agent Johnson demanded, feeling the weight of too many days without sleep and bad coffee besides.

"The suspect, Graham, sir."

"Is he still blathering about the Devil?"

"No sir, he's, well, I don't quite know how it happened –"

"Oh just spit it out man."

"He's dead sir. Murdered."

#

A/N - This isn't as edited as I'd like, so please point out if you see something wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

Hey, thank you all for your reviews so far. I replied to everyone who had an account with PM activated, but thank you to all my guest reviewers too :)

#

A headache pounding away behind tired eyes, Agent Johnson folded his arms and leaned back against the wall of the observation room. He hoped it looked casual rather than exhausted.

This was a break in the case. Despite what it looked like, this was _good_ news. A win, a small one, but the first they'd had over the past two months and four states. Johnson had to remind himself of that, otherwise he'd let Agent Michaels go and rough Former-Detective Graham up and damn the consequences.

"It's the _Devil,"_ the man insisted. His eyes looked wild, savage, even from the cover of the one-way glass, the rage in his eyes burned. Now that Johnson looked at them and saw the madness within; he wondered how they could ever have missed it.

At least his team hadn't been the only ones; the local Lieutenant had been shocked too, when she'd come to politely tell Graham that 'under the circumstances' he was being 'let go' and the insane rant she'd gotten in return.

"Come now, Malcolm," Price cajoled whilst Michaels loomed in the background, "we both know how this game works. Sure, an insanity plea might look good from your end, but you know you'll get a better deal if you can show some signs of remorse. Helping the case will help your sentence."

Price was going for the professional courtesy route then. Well, so far so good. Johnson nodded thoughtfully. His position here was to watch for anything the two in the room might miss, but it would do more good if the suspect weren't law enforcement too - Malcolm knew these tricks.

Why had their subject picked Malcolm to bribe?

The girl was a clear choice, assuming this Collector – Johnson still didn't approve of the name – had picked this station to select a victim from. Chloe Decker was more famous for her mother than on her own, but she was the only one of any notoriety at all in this precinct.

So if the Collector worked via geographical preferences rather than attention, was he more limited in scope than previously assumed? Or was the girl's involvement with Lucifer Morningstar the trigger? Well-known, rich and with an untapped wealth of contacts, the real target might be the assumed father figure? The Collector didn't have a preference for nuclear families after all.

Nothing was lining up right in his mind. He couldn't _see_ the link that bound them all together.

"None of it _matters!"_ Malcolm screamed, jerking Johnson out of his thoughts. "Don't you get it?" The man was raving, trying to wave his arms, failing due to the steel that bound them to the table and trying again anyway. "I'm already _dead_! So _what_ if I want to go out with a bang? I deserve it. I've worked all my life and it means _nothing._ Nothing _, do you hear me?_ Nothing _!"_

Was he actually frothing at the mouth? He certainly didn't seem to notice that the cuffs had drawn blood from his wrists he was pulling on them so hard. Michaels did notice however, and he gave the mirror a pointed glance, eyebrow raised.

If an act this was, then it was a good one. Malcolm was pale, sweating, an unhealthy flush to his cheeks, and the circles under his eyes were black with fatigue adding a decade to his features that the manic energy did nothing to disturb.

Johnson let it continue; providing medical treatment would be a good way for Price to establish trust, especially if she sent Michaels out the room and cleaned the cuts personally so that it was one on one, female to male. It was something he'd suggest when they got to the second round of questioning - if nothing else worked before that.

In the mean time, wild ranting was just that, wild. Johnson had seen plenty of men and women say something in the midst of anger that they wouldn't otherwise.

"You'll be in protective custody as a former police officer," Price reassured, absolutely unfazed by the scene in front of her. "We can bump that up, if you're cooperative. Why do you say that you're already dead? Have you been threatened?"

Malcolm laughed, hoarsely, jerking his entire body forward to bang his head on the table and keep it there.

"You can't protect me from him," he told the desk, shoulders hunched up around his ears.

The certainty in his words was chilling.

Johnson frowned. He'd heard such things before of course, when people had been afraid, terrorised, the monster under the bed was always a thousand times bigger in their minds than reality.

This was different. He didn't know how or why, but the hairs on the back of his neck quivered, and a chill leeched into his bones. Johnson straightened, there was something there, something -

"He's the _Devil_."

-Johnson slumped back again. Quietly, he allowed a small spark of bitterness to register in his mind. He despised it when criminals used religion as a justification for their actions. It was so demeaning. As if faith itself was tainted by their selfishness.

"Come now Malcolm," Price soothed, "We both know you're not a religious man. This façade is pointless. Who contacted you first about Beatrice? _How_ did they contact you? Where? What can you tell me about them? How did they arrange the money transfer? Did you negotiate or did they offer you a flat price?"

Johnson was momentarily distracted as a pair of uniforms entered the observation room, escorting Espinoza. The man grimaced at seeing Malcolm, but didn't seem particularly surprised or concerned by his condition.

"It doesn't matter if you believe," Malcolm lifted his head – a blood vessel had burst in his eye and red streaked the sclera. "It just _is._ I was so _stupid_. I thought it was all a con – and then I got shot, and I was _there."_

Price went with it, only long years of working together allowed Johnson to see the exasperation in her eyes. "Where were you, Malcolm?"

"Hell," he croaked, his pale face losing a few more shades of colour.

"You were in a coma, Malcolm," she soothed briskly. "It was a dream, but who could say how a guilty conscious affected you. Confession is good for the soul, you know. Now if you could cast your mind back to when you were first offered the bribe-"

"It's all that bitch's fault. If she hadn't got me _shot_ because she couldn't take a fucking hint, couldn't give a man some fucking _slack,_ the self-righteous little tart–"

"Detective Decker was doing her duty," Michaels interrupted from behind Malcolm, a well-timed classic. "As you should have been doing."

"Decker," Malcolm snarled, his face twisting up, "His _whore."_

Since he wasn't alone, Johnson kept his sigh silent. This was going nowhere fast. Malcolm was sticking to his insanity plea and that was that. They didn't have the time to wear him down and he wasn't remorseful enough to cooperate.

Well, they had their leak at least. Maybe Beck would get somewhere with the money trail off of Malcolm's accounts. No one had been bribed in the other cases. Was The Collector evolving? Or had it just been necessity this time, or efficiency. None of the other victims were related to law enforcement.

"Are you talking about Mr Morningstar?"

Johnson blinked, realising he'd missed the reference. _His_ whore.

"For fuck's sake don't say his fucking name," Malcolm shivered. "He can probably _tell."_

Ah, now this could be interesting. The club-owner had certainly peaked his own curiosity.

"You're afraid of him," Price realised, and Johnson found himself watching Espinoza as well as Malcolm. The local officers had had a great deal to say about the consultant, but what Johnson had found most telling, as always, was what they didn't say. Decker's clearance rate on cases had shot up through the roof since they'd partnered up. But that was nothing compared to the silences that fell when he came up in conversation, to the way they watched him from the corner of their eyes, the way that some stepped into his path, and others stepped away, quickly.

Johnson understood. One conversation with Mr Morningstar and _he'd_ been telling him more than he should have. Johnson blamed a headache, stress, and having no one else in his life to confide in. he'd been worn down, and the man was charming. In hindsight, it was easy to see why he'd been so easily taken in.

But months of it?

He'd have stepped away too.

"He's the Devil," Malcolm whispered, leaning across the table as if finally making that confession. "Really, swear to God, swear down, pinkie promise, cross my heart and hope to not-die-again, he is the Devil."

Malcolm giggled and Johnson started wondering if the coma was the start of this. Had it left Malcolm in a delicate mental state, vulnerable somehow? Coming so close to death, dreaming of Hell, it had to leave a man thinking over his choices. An existential crisis could certainly explain the shopping spree. Cleared for duty too soon, working with the woman who he blamed for his pain, and then meeting a man with an unfortunate name?

A good lawyer could spin that to gold.

Price and Michael shared a look.

"There's a little girl's entire life resting on this, Malcolm. Talk to me about the Collector."

#

An hour later, and Price left the interrogation room with nothing but mad raving to show for it. Johnson had been relieved a while ago, and was reading over Beck's report when she appeared in his door, a fresh drink in her hand.

"Anything?"

"No, he's sticking to this Devil shtick. I hate to say it boss, but I'm starting to believe that he's really cracked."

"He hasn't asked for a lawyer?"

"No."

"Give him an hour to sweat it, and then put the pressure on. We have some news on the financial trail at last, here, read this."

She read it, a grim smile appearing briefly, before she handed the papers back.

"Sir," Michaels appeared at the door next, his expression serious. "We have a problem."

"What is it now?" Agent Johnson demanded, feeling the weight of too many days without sleep and bad coffee besides.

"The suspect, Graham, sir." He looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Is he still blathering about the Devil?" Johnson asked, flipping the report back onto his temporary desk.

"No sir, he's, well, I don't quite know how it happened –"

"Oh just spit it out man."

"He's dead sir. Murdered. It's, well, it's pretty bad down there."

For a moment, there was silence as Johnson tried to translate the words he'd heard into an actual thought. The thought varied between, _this is a disaster, why me,_ and _god doesn't give you a burden heavier than you can carry_ before cycling back to _this is a complete and utter clusterfuck._

He leapt up from his chair, strode out the room through the bullpen, and down to the interview rooms.

The corridor was packed, and it was impossible to see anything over the press of bodies, or hear anything over the tide of panicked babbling, but the smell told Johnson what he would see before he reached the doorway.

It was a scene out of a nightmare.

There was blood everywhere. It painted the walls in great arcing curves, it dripped from the ceiling like thick gelatinous rain, and it smeared the light shade so that the room was lit with a red glow.

The body had been torn apart and for once, that was no exaggeration. There were scraps of flesh in every corner of the room. There was a tuft of bloody hair stuck to the light switch, and as Johnson watched in numb horror, it slid down the wall, tipping onto the floor and into a puddle of blood with a plop. It was not the only lump in the soup either.

Intestines like a pile of spaghetti were splayed over one leg of the upturned desk, swaying in the draft, and dripping with juices. There was a fragment of bone stuck in the brick wall, stark white against the splatter of blood around it. It had lodged there so forcefully – been thrown? Exploded? – that there was a tiny impact crater in the brick.

A single eyeball, stripped clean of veins and nerves, lay in the middle of the floor, rocking backward and forwards – and looking straight at him through the film of death.

The stench was like a solid wall. Somebody behind him was throwing up, and if Johnson had had an ounce less experience or pride, he'd be joining in. Malcolm must have been eviscerated – blood alone didn't foul up a room like this. There had to be urine, faeces, digestive juices, stomach acid, saliva, disintegrated organs and everything else a body had in the mix too. That would explain the colour at least, and some of the pools of fluid.

"How-," he cleared his throat, gagged on his breath and cleared his throat again.

"How could this happen? We're in the middle of a police station for crying out loud. Who was on guard? Why didn't we hear anything? Where are the tapes?"

His brain kick started and he managed to start shaking off the instinctive revulsion, the sheer disgust, as logic returned.

"I'll find out," Michaels replied, leaving so eagerly he might as well have given up the pretence and just ran.

Johnson touched a cop on the shoulder, giving him a shake to snap him out of it. "Come on man," he said, "I need forensics down here. You know the drill. Stop gawking." He lifted his voice to project the last two words to the rest of the room.

"Back off and clear the area, have some respect for god's sake, we've all got jobs to do people. Lock this whole place down and do it now."

#

After a quick visit to the bathroom and three sips of whisky, regulations be damned, Johnson was ready to deal with this latest atrocity.

No one had heard anything; no one had seen anything.

Yeah, like Johnson was going to believe _that._

A man was torn apart. Was he supposed to think it had happened silently? For god's sake, the interview room was only down the corridor from the bullpen.

Decker was person non grata in this station. Johnson should have paid more attention to that. He'd blown it off as local politics, attractive woman in a man's world, the usual. He should have thought beyond that. Maybe she wasn't outcast because she'd been looking for a dirty cop, and found one as it turned out. Maybe she was outcast because she _wasn't_ dirty.

Well, Johnson had a plan.

He was sick of navigating these treacherous waters. No, enough was enough. It was time to use shock tactics.

"Sir, can we talk outside?" Beck said, hollow eyed. "Oh, and don't forget to put your phone on charge, you know you forget."

She'd found something in the video, and wanted to talk about it away from prying ears. Johnson put his phone on charge, only now seeing that it was indeed in the red even though he hadn't used it much, and followed her outside to the parking lot.

"Who was it?" Johnson asked her.

"The tapes have been doctored," Beck replied quietly. "And they didn't care if we knew it."

Johnson clenched his teeth and counted to ten, twice.

"Who, when and how?" He asked thirty seconds later.

Beck shook her head. "It gets worse. We've been hacked."

"Ah, my phone. I see."

" _All_ our phones, sir, and all of the stations computers, the radios, everything, even the cameras."

"So that's how the subject's been getting ahead of us so easily."

To his despair, Beck shook her head.

"It doesn't make sense, sir. We know the subject's good with computers; we know he's clever. It's not smart to taunt us with badly doctored security footage. Where would be the benefit in it either? He could only be protecting another officer here, and that's a waste of his time. He won't ever return to L.A."

"Maybe he's devolving, getting cocky, making mistakes."

"We're not that lucky."

Johnson sighed. She was right. A monster he might be, but The Collector hadn't continued business for all these months by being stupid.

"What was doctored?"

Maybe that should have been his first question.

Beck looked grim. "The footage shows Malcolm being attacked by an invisible animal whilst a woman laughs in the background. It's disturbing, but it's so obviously altered, I don't know why someone would bother. All they've done is tipped us off."

Johnson thought it over. This was a new twist, but it didn't change his plan.

"Is it disturbing enough to provoke a reaction from any co-conspirators here?"

Beck nodded. "Easily, it's ah, gruesome, like, really, really viscerally awful."

"Alright. You focus on the hacker. Trap him if you can, protect us if you can't. We need secure communications or we might as well kill the girl ourselves. Warn the team about their phones too, but keep it between us. "

With that, there was nothing to do but to go and watch the video for himself.

The briefing room was packed with uniformed officers, and he didn't try to kick everyone out. Gossip had done its job, and everyone who could possibly have been involved was here, without an official summons by him. Good.

Michaels and Price were at the front of the room and at the side, watching everyone else, whilst he sat in the front row, just as if this was a normal briefing. With a nod to Beck, the video played.

 _Malcolm sat alone at the desk, head down. Occasionally he thumped his forehead against the metal, or rocked in his chair staring at the ceiling._

Beck fast-forwarded.

 _"I knew you'd come," Malcolm said tiredly._ The camera covered all corners of the interview room and there was no one there. _Laughter bounced off the walls, and the shadows flickered._ The video was momentarily full of static, signs of a rush job since digital footage didn't get static. _"I fucking knew it." Malcolm swore viciously. "It's not my fucking fault, leave me out of this."_

 _"You were a mistake, Malcolm Graham."_ The bodiless voice replied, caressing the name with uncomfortable amounts of savage relish _. "Did you think it would not be corrected?"_

 _"It was divine intervention," Malcolm snapped back as he jumped to his feet, facing the corner of the room furthest from the door._ There was still no one there. _"I was_ allowed _out. You can't touch me."_

 _"Politics," the voice drawled, bored, "are not my concern. As for touch…" Three long scratches appeared on Malcolm's face, deep, and dripping blood. Too late, the man jumped back and started pulling frantically on his cuffs._

 _"Help!" He screamed towards the metal door. "Help me!"_

Deeply uneasy, Johnson forced himself to watch. He knew what had to happen next, but no matter how gruesome, there would be clues. Something could still be gained from this.

 _"They can't hear you," the voice continued, cruel amusement a heavy thread in that low, whispering tone. "It's just you and me here. Oh, and my pets of course. Here they are, meet-" An artificial pause, "how silly of me. You've met them before, haven't you?"_

 _Malcolm drew back as far as the chain allowed, scrambling to put the desk between him and the corner._

Johnson shivered, and he didn't know why.

 _"Get them away from me! Help! Look, I'm sure we can work out some sort of deal – he wants the girl, doesn't he? I know stuff, I'll tell you everything if you get me out of here."_

Well, that was as good as a confession as far as Johnson's report would be concerned. Excellent. One box ticked at last, and a clue; there was another player here, a third one.

 _"Deals are also not my concern," the shadows drawled. "My orders are clear."_

A player who hired assassins as brutal as they were skilled, lovely.

 _Malcolm screamed._ It took Johnson a blink to see the bite of flesh and fabric both abruptly missing from his calf. _Blood sprayed, painting the wall, and swiftly staining Malcolm's jeans black. The chunk of flesh was thrown through the air to hit the wall with a dull smack, swiftly followed by a spray of bright red blood._

 _Still screaming Malcolm kicked out at something unseen as a woman's laughter filled the room. He hadn't stopped pulling at his handcuffs, and with a cry of agonised victory, Malcolm's hands slipped free – of his wrists._

Swallowing bile, Johnson had to close his eyes. Scum or not – how terrified did a man have to be to cut his own hands off?

 _Blood fountaining from both gaping wrists, Malcolm made a lunge for the door – banging on the window with two bloody stumps. When that failed, he kicked out at something again and promptly lost a boot full of flesh and gristle to unseen fangs. Undeterred, too desperate to care, Malcolm slammed his way to the chair, berserker style. He hooked one forearm through the struts on the back, and brandished it about, striking randomly, getting steadily weaker. Animalistic cries haunted the room with every blow._

 _It wasn't enough._

 _Something struck him from behind, and Malcolm went down – and then it was all over. Three different bites appeared on his skin, clothing and fleshed vanished in mid-air, mists of blood and guts sprayed, and Malcolm was eaten alive._

 _The laughter never stopped._

#


	16. Chapter 16

#

"Don't I know it," the mercenary chortled, his smile friendly and honest, he placed a warm hand on her wrist, "Another martini?" he asked, nodding his head toward her empty glass.

Chloe gave him a slow wicked smile, and hoped desperately that this wasn't being recorded live.

"Isn't it my round yet?"

The man gave her a look of exaggerated offence.

"A gentlemen never lets a lady pay," he told her, putting on a posh accent with a grin.

Chloe laughed, "Well, if you insist, my good sir," she matched his tone on the last three words.

He bought their second round, and took a hearty sip of his brandy whilst Chloe drank her vaguely olive-flavoured water.

What was she supposed to do? Get him down the back alley was all very well and good as a general plan but what was she supposed to _say_? She wasn't a femme fatale in a Bond movie. She had no idea what subtle phrases; witty dialogue or double-entendres would work. What said 'come hither' and what said 'slut?' Or more accurately, what would _he_ think said which? And for that matter which would get him to follow her out?

This was so stressful. Clearly, she was not cut out for a career in espionage.

... and that was when she noticed Lamia.

Lamia who had not returned to serving other customers; Lamia who had just been hovering unobtrusively; Lamia who was watching the mercenary far too closely.

Ah. Of course, she should have known. Lucifer's plans certainly tended towards brutal pragmatism. Why jump a man in an alley when you own the bartender?

"Excuse me for a sec," the mercenary said, slipping off his bar stool and heading for the bathroom.

Chloe watched him go, knowing he'd not come back, and trying not to be grateful for it.

#

The thrill of the hunt had never faded.

Back in the day, he used to ride out with the hounds himself. Mortals still told the stories of spectral beasts running through the skies or the woods and truth be told - as always - he missed it.

The modern hunt was with security cameras and computers. Lucifer was disappointed. Where was the fun in that? What happened to the exultation? The meaty goodness of pride, glory and triumph? The men and women of this age seemed positively terrified by their own humanity, trying to erase it wherever possible with all of this logic and reason and dull dull _dull_.

He hoped the Detective wasn't disappointed. She might have grown up with all of these silly notions, but the Devil had standards. He'd be a poor host indeed if he couldn't offer her any decent entertainment.

He watched the Detective in a reflection; she was smiling at the doomed fellow, one Amir Martin Lucifer knew after a quick peek at the man's soul. It was hardly sporting, but this wasn't a pleasure hunt so he texted the name up to Brent, who would have his life story in a few minutes.

No fun at all.

The Detective threw back her head, hair a golden halo, and laughed freely.

On the other hand, Lucifer thought narrowing his eyes, there was no reason to be sloppy; he pulled out his phone again and sent Lamia a change of orders.

"Mr Morningstar?"

"Millie, you're tired," he told her gently, guiding her by the shoulder to one of the waiting Lilim. "Wouldn't you rather go home and sleep poppet? It's a waste of your time to linger here; you've better things to do. This story is boring."

He didn't watch her go. Instead, he spied a lovely girl with delightful blue hair and danced with her until he was bored, very flexible that one, and moved on to a spry young man wearing a red shirt - rock solid abs - and from _him_ there was an exceptionally leggy blonde in a red dress – and that was when he gave it up and retreated to the bar.

He looked to Lamia, she nodded once in confirmation and he grinned. Now for the real fun; the detective certainly wouldn't be disappointed in him for this session.

"Ready for a bit of slap and tickle?" he asked her, cocking an eyebrow invitingly.

The Detective's eyes dimmed a little, but she nodded. "I suppose I ought to see this through to the end," she said.

Ah, Lucifer realised, those moral things again. Persistent little buggers weren't they?

"You could turn in," he suggested, feeling lost. He couldn't imagine her _really_ wanting to miss out on all the goodies, but he could read her well enough to know that she wasn't anywhere _near_ as excited as she should be for a bit of hanky panky; an odd duck, his Detective.

She glared at him, which was much better.

"I _said_ I'd see it through."

"Jolly good," he bounced up, "Wait ten minutes or so and follow Lamia, she knows where to go."

#

Chloe grimaced at the table, feeling a terrible combination of sick and resolute _._ She'd meant what she said. She'd started this, asked for it, even. She had to see it through. It was the least she could do, the least she owed the man.

She'd love to pretend this wasn't happening, wait no. Her conscious wouldn't let her lie to herself. She'd love it if this could all be undone – but it couldn't. None of it could.

Trixie was gone. Worse, she'd never be the same after when – and it could only be when – they rescued her. Dan wasn't the man she'd thought he was, and along the way, she'd changed too.

Changed enough that she'd just helped kidnapped a man she only had Lucifer's word as evidence against. A man they were going to interrogate like vigilantes, and Chloe wasn't going to stop it. In fact, she was going to help. What did that say about her?

Panic was for when the crisis was over.

Chloe waited the requisite ten minutes as she battled her queasy stomach then finished her drink and carefully eased herself off of the bar stool. Did she have time to change her shoes? Was it appropriate to attend an interrogation (and that's absolutely all it would be) dressed like this? Was she just trying to distract her conscious or was she really worried about her clothes?

Chloe didn't know, and she didn't like that either.

Lamia guided her silently down some stairs, through a door marked as 'Staff Only', which Chloe had never seen before, and then down again. The walls went from painted plaster to rough brick, to even _rougher_ brick with crumbling mortar stabilised by regular wooden beams that would have been at home down a mineshaft.

She'd had no idea this place existed, but some part of her noted, rather nettled, that it was perfect for activities of dubious legality.

How often had it been used?

The box at the back of her mind was getting rather full.

Doggedly she followed Lamia, and after only a handful of twists and turns, found herself in a room that could have come from any enforcement agency in the country.

Including the one-way mirror.

Chloe steeled herself and stepped up to the window.

The mercenary was still unconscious; he sat in a metal chair that had been bolted to the floor, cuffed at each wrist and ankle to the sturdy frame. The room was lit by a single light bulb dropped from a high ceiling. All it illuminated was the mercenary's chair, a chair opposite him, and a table to the side. The rest of the room was ominously dark.

She made a noise like a strangled cat.

"Why is he naked?"

"Did you think I was going to ask nicely?" Lucifer appeared out of the shadows, unfastening the top few buttons of his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

"I-," Chloe looked away. Shame rose like bile.

"Will it work?"

Lucifer did not hesitate. "Yes."

Chloe closed her eyes, hating how comforted she felt.

"OK. "

Warmth embraced her. Chloe's eyes flew back open in surprise, but she hugged Lucifer back gratefully. So, so, horrendously grateful.

"Look away if you must," he murmured into her hair, "I'll understand."

Then he was gone, and it was cold. She did not let herself think about what he'd really meant, and she did not look away.

#

"Wakey wakey, there's a good chap."

Lucifer beamed at Mr Martin as eyes obediently opened to peer blearily around the room. He gave the man some time to gather himself; it was only polite.

"Confused?"

The chair made an excellent squeal as he dragged it over and plonked down, crossing his legs. Nice and dramatic.

"That'd be the drug I expect. Should have watched your drink. Don't you know what can happen to a man out alone? Still, never you mind, it'll wear off in a minute."

Mr Martin began to struggle as alarm dawned in those murky depths. Lucifer let him do that too, because it made for a lovely view. Those abs were _ripped_ and really quite pleasant to watch as they heaved and contorted and strained.

"I've had bigger men than you, Mr Martin," Lucifer measured the man with his eyes just to be sure, "languishing here at my pleasure. Save your strength for the fun and games, pet."

He consoled the poor fellow with a friendly pat, on the thigh.

The mercenary stared down at the hand, and then at Lucifer.

"When I get out of here," the man hissed, "I am going to fuck you up so badly you'll be shitting teeth for a decade."

"That's the spirit," Lucifer cheered, and then he rose, knowing he had Mr Martin's full attention, and wondered over to the table.

Lamia wasn't Mazikeen, but she had at least remembered the whisky.

"Drink?"

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later," Lucifer replied evenly, "are you sure?" He tilted the extra glass towards his prisoner, "It's an excellent year, just a faint hint of apple, really kicks it off."

Mr Martin groaned, and banged his head against the finial.

" _Fuck._ _You_."

Lucifer retook his seat and eyed him over the rim of his glass.

"I'm sure you know why you're here."

"Not a fucking clue," the man grinned through his teeth.

"Mr Martin, I am prepared to be reasonable. You are aware that a bounty has been posted for the girl's life. Lead me to your employer and it's yours."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"And yet you have not panicked on finding yourself within my grasp. You do not ask why you're here, or what I want with you. You have made no threats about calling the police or any other nominal guardian of society. Hardly the actions of a normal citizen."

"I'm fuck-ing ser- _ene_ ," he drawled.

"Mr Martin, my schedule is rather tight. This evening will go far better for you if you cooperate."

"Do you think I'm scared of a fucking paper pusher? The only reason you got me is 'cause one of your bitches drugged me. When I get out of here, you're guna' be regretting that."

Lucifer set down the glass.

"When?"

Martin rolled his eyes. "You work for the cops. You're not going to kill me, or torture me, or anything else this little set up wants me to believe. Do you think I'm stupid? I've done this before."

"What a coincidence. So have I."

#

A/N: - Thoughts?


	17. Chapter 17

#

A/N - As always, thank you for all of the support so far. Your reviews are inspiring.

#

Lucifer examined his…guest with an analytical eye.

He was quite right of course. Lucifer had no intention of torturing him.

It was unfortunate, really, but since when was life fair? Especially to him. They didn't even have enough time to lay in the proper groundwork. The Offspring was down to thirty-nine hours, if their true prey was a man of his word - and the sort of games Mazikeen preferred required much, much, longer to show the right sort of results.

Every soul would lie like a rug if they thought it would stop the pain; it took a careful, patient, touch to teach them better; the pain was _never_ going to stop.

In the meantime, Lucifer couldn't tolerate that sort of inefficiency when the Detective was watching. The thought of what failure would do to his reputation… it wasn't worth contemplating.

Psychological torture was more effective, Lucifer had seen some amazing things down Below - back when he'd cared. Humans were their own worst enemy; the sheer cruelty of their imagination was beyond even Lucifer's ken. And yet his Father's favourite, they remained. Typical. Perhaps He saw something of Himself in them. Regardless, that method took even longer that the first.

Fortunately, Lucifer wasn't limited to human methods.

He lit up a cigarette and puffed on it indolently, savouring the taste of the smoke as he weighed and measured the mortal's soul. It was soaked in pain and tragedy, grey only because it's light still shone weakly through the skein of shame, regret, and sin. A fair beginning as all souls received, but soon darkened with suffering, and weighed down by bad choices that only grew worse the longer this one endured.

"Let me guess, if I don't talk, you're going to put it out in my eye," Amir Martin said.

Lucifer made his choice, and exhaled the smoke in one deep breath, before lazily meeting the human's gaze.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Mr Martin? It's what your mother used to tell you after all, and you knew how to handle her."

Eyes. The windows to the soul.

The light flickered gently above them, and in the deepening shadows Lucifer's eyes grew brighter, his smile infinitely sharper and colder, something dreadful inside throwing off the shackles of sleep and spreading it's malevolent wings.

The mortal had stilled, heart thumping a rhythm only the two of them could hear. No matter how veiled a mortal's sight was, the primal instincts were not so easily fooled. The hairs on the back of the neck, the pricking of the thumbs, that creeping horrible dread that something was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Infinitely patient, Lucifer watched as the mortal was swamped with the ghastly scrambling sensation, before that wilful blindness rushed back to soothe the uneasy mind with the familiar and comforting blinders of Science and Logic.

Mr Martin licked his lips, opened his mouth to sass – but his voice came out as a trembling croak.

Lucifer was not surprised. Some mortals took The Knowledge that way. If it was real – if it really, really, was real – then so too was Hell, and they'd been very naughty little boys and girls.

Ignorance was bliss, in comparison.

"I can see it you know," Lucifer murmured, "How she twisted you from innocence to sin," he paused to take another drag of smoke. "How you let her."

"I was a child!"

The defence was incredibly swift for a man who wanted to laugh at him, but Lucifer knew the man had no idea _why_ he cared so much so suddenly only that he did.

Instinct was a compelling power – and somewhere behind the defensive consciousness, the soul remembered that there was a Judge.

"Do you really think that matters?"

If it weren't so pathetic, it would be funny. Why were children exempt from the will of their Father, when all were children before Him? Why did the weight of the years matter, when Dearest Dad's rules were absolute? Those laws made no exceptions for the child, the mad or the desperate.

Not even his favourite son.

Mercy was a modern concept and not one Dad cared for. Honestly, had no one read the Bible?

"You're not my fucking therapist."

It wasn't anger talking, Lucifer sensed, but an attempt to normalise the situation. Mr Martin thought he knew the game; the roles the two of them were supposed to play. Banter and bravado followed by a little rough and tumble – not this slow sinking dread. He thought he was better than that.

Lucifer knew better.

The longer he kept he gave the man his undivided attention, which, honestly, was quite the honour in and of itself, the more the shield of Mr Martin's nerves cracked before the onslaught of gibbering cosmic potential.

Lucifer kept watching.

The human snapped.

Mr Martin started heaving on the cuffs that bound him – absolutely, _gloriously_ , mindless with wild panic.

Lucifer surveyed the show with a connoisseur's eye. Mr Martin's body writhed pleasantly under the chains and under the dim light and faintly sweating – well, Lucifer had paid good money to see similar performances. Smooth skin, faint scars, strongly defined musculature that flexed and heaved…

He took another slow drag, and luxuriated in the smouldering flavour.

"Why would I want to be?" he parried as if there'd been no interim, once Mr Martin had exhausted himself and began fidgeting, "after what you did to the last one?"

Oh yes, he was shocked now. Surprise rather than fear, but they were getting there.

"So you've read my file," he said eventually, "big deal."

"You want to believe that," Lucifer tapped the ashes off, "but you don't."

"Am I supposed to say, _oh but how could you possibly know that, Mister Holmes_? Fuck you, you fucking fag. Hand me over to the cops already will you? I'm getting bored, and get me some fucking pants too."

"Tell me what I want to know, and we can make a deal."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not Robert or Claire, Mr Martin," Lucifer chided sympathetically, "I don't touch the unwilling." There was a regretful pause. "No matter how good you look tied up like that – and Claire agreed with me, didn't she? She just preferred leather, and you liked it quite a bit until you didn't."

#

She'd never seen Lucifer like this.

Chloe was pressed up as close to the glass as she could get without sticking to it, arms wrapped about herself for warmth. It was _cold_ down here, and got colder with every revelation.

Lucifer persuaded people all the time for her cases, but those had been brief, the secrets on the tip of the tongue, ready to come spilling out for a handsome man and a cute accent.

This was different.

Chloe shivered. Lucifer wasn't questioning the mercenary; he was… peeling him open, secret by secret.

Every thought, every choice, every passing fancy no matter how bizarrely random or excruciatingly private - It seemed like there was nothing that Lucifer didn't know, and he was a master of theatre.

The information had to have come from Brent upstairs – and Chloe made a mental note to _never_ piss off a man that thorough _–_ but the way Lucifer _spoke._ All quiet sympathy one moment, pitying a childhood trauma, and then deriding as he passed judgement on a particular decision. Lucifer just kept _going_.

First kiss.

First kill.

Abused.

Abuser.

Victim.

Criminal.

His voice was hypnotic, tone, intonation, rhythm, coupled with the ever-moving shadows, the cold room, the nakedness, the vulnerability as every secret was laid bare, exposed like a raw nerve and flayed alive.

For god's sake, Lucifer hadn't even hit him. The worst thing he'd done was blow smoke in Martin's face and Chloe was _scared_.

The mercenary broke, and Chloe actually felt sorry for him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Amir – and it _was_ Amir now after seeing, no, _bearing witness_ to such cruel intimacy – was looking at Lucifer like he was the face of the devil. It was testament to how unnerved Chloe felt that she couldn't muster any of her usual exasperation for the accidental pun.

If it had been her in there, naked and alone in the dark before a man who knew _everything,_ how would she have reacted? God, it would be so _easy_ to call it supernatural.

"What are you?" Amir's voice was so wretched it was painful to listen to.

Even in victory, Lucifer's expression didn't so much as flicker. He sipped his whiskey and smoked his second cigarette, but nothing could hide the nightmare looking out of his eyes. The things he must have seen, Chloe realised sadly, to earn such a tortured gaze.

"You already know."

Amir looked away, swallowed, nodded his head once as if to say, fair's fair and started to speak.

"I work on a team of six. We do security for the Castello family." He gave Lucifer a meaningful look. "You know?"

Lucifer nodded, and Chloe was certain there was something in there she'd missed. Some nugget of background knowledge or understanding that only those _in the know_ would recognise.

"Last week we get a call that there's a specialist coming to town. A right nutter, but he turns a profit like you wouldn't believe. We just have to play his game for a bit, keep him happy, whatever it takes."

Chloe let out a long slow breath and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Finally, _finally._

"Give me a name."

"I don't know it," Amir said softly. "Seriously man, I'd tell you if I did."

"I believe you," Lucifer said, and Amir shuddered. Chloe tried not to read into that, but couldn't help herself. Relief?

"We're doing routine business, a few meetings, moving the product like, and then he asks us to do surveillance on this woman."

"You've seen his face?"

"No. I told you he's paranoid. Our orders came by phone or email. He has an American accent, no markers but I'm not an expert."

"Tell me about this surveillance."

"Nothing exotic, bit of records research, bit of following her about," Amir shrugged. Chloe tried not to feel like ants were crawling down her back and failed. They'd followed her? She hadn't seen _anything._ There was a crushing sense of blame and guilt lurking in the far corners of her mind, but she didn't let herself feel it.

"Name of Decker, a detective. Your partner," Amir rolled his eyes. "Once we reported that, couple of the lads weren't so happy – but this guy, he doesn't care about you."

Chloe sucked in a breath. Confirmation. Amir _knew_ Lucifer – or knew _of_ him, so did this team of his, and it _meant something_ to them all. She didn't need to be part of their world to connect the dots. If he was telling the truth though, that this had nothing to do with Lucifer… then it really was all about her?

"He's talking about raising a bit of publicity," Amir continued and Chloe had to shake the _devastation-resignation-hope-_ out to focus once more.

"-advertising for the usual market and so on. The bosses, they're all for it, heck, you've seen the news, the guy's untouchable. He's got feds running like chickens, so what the hell, right?"

"Oh, Hell's certainly on the menu," Lucifer purred, "Continue."

"Right," cue awkward shifting, and Chloe couldn't even blame him by that point. She'd passed _highly disturbed_ over an hour ago when Lucifer told Amir details about his life that couldn't possibly (but must have) made it onto a record somewhere. They did the say the Internet was forever – but there had to be limits.

"Well, it wasn't exactly difficult. The target is obviously going to be the kid with this guy, best place for that is always after school lets out, so we work out her schedule. Divorced parents mean there's like five different cars that pick her up so that's the weak point we recommend, and bam, the next day it's all over the news."

"I see."

Lucifer pulled a photograph out from his pocket.

"Do you recognise this man?"

Amir looked at it carefully then nodded once.

"Yeah, I remember him. Thought he was a customer. You don't get many black guys working with the Castellos."

Black guy? Amenadiel, Chloe guessed. So Lucifer's family was involved somehow? God she knew that family was _screwed up_ but this was beyond the pale. Who would go after children for an unrelated man's offence? Who went after children at _all_? Well. She knew the answer, didn't she?

"Did you hear or see anything about him?" Lucifer continued, tucking the photo back away.

"No. I literally walked past him once in the corridor. If he hadn't been black, I wouldn't have even remembered him."

"What corridor, and when."

"Main house, yesterday morning."

"Do you know anything that could get me access to the girl, to The Collector, or anyone else who could?"

There was a long weighty silence. Chloe could see the calculation running in Amir's eyes and she was running it right along with him.

What happened when his store of information run out? When he was no longer useful? Did he live, or die? Was he a loose end or an asset?

Not that she thought Lucifer would kill him, but, well, he couldn't know Lucifer as she did, and apparently, her partner had a 'reputation' amongst their kind.

Amir made his decision.

"No." Amir said evenly. "He finished business with the family over a week ago. This is all a side operation, unconnected apart from the advertising. Our team was loaned as a courtesy really."

"What were you supposed to do with the video footage you took tonight?"

"Dead drop, but the deadline's passed. He won't risk going for it, not when it could be a trap now."

"I see," Lucifer said politely.

He stood up, and smoothed out his jacket, adjusting the lay of the sleeves.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

He turned to leave.

"What happens to me?" Amir called to his back. "Let me go! I told you everything I know didn't I? We had a deal!"

Lucifer didn't turn around.

"We made no Bargain, Amir Martin," Lucifer said, oddly formal, "so I _must_ do nothing."

He left without another word.


	18. Chapter 18

Lucifer seemed surprised, and most definitely pleased, to find her still waiting for him, outside his secret and so very unethical interrogation room.

"Enjoy the show?" He grinned and Chloe couldn't find anything deceitful in the smile. He really was happy. Were mood swings something she ought to be concerned about? Some sort of sign of madness? Or, she thought with a creeping sense of disquiet, was she just terrible at reading men? She'd been sure with Dan after all, sure enough for marriage and children, and, well, look how that had turned out _._

Maybe it was time to throw society's rules out the window and judge him by actions alone.

"It was certainly unique," she replied dryly, choosing to avoid the difficult topics for now. There'd be plenty of time for that, after.

"As long as you were entertained. Quite the pretty one wasn't he?" He nudged her and winked.

Chloe snorted and shook her head in exasperation, the uncomfortable feeling dissipating that easily. No, this was just Lucifer. He was an unapologetic rascal of the first order, but he'd never deliberately hurt her.

"What will you do with him?" She asked carefully as they walked up the stairs to the ground floor.

Lucifer shrugged. "I'll keep him for now, he may prove useful, but after it's all said and done, he's yours."

Chloe missed a step. Lucifer offered her his arm. She took it, blankly, and held tight until they were back on ground level.

Had he just…?

Chloe took the drink Lamia pressed into her hand and sipped, appreciating the artificial warmth of the real alcohol. No more fake martinis for her. She tipped the glass back and collapsed onto her seat at the bar, which had remained conspicuously open for her in the heaving club. Her two 'guards' were still on duty too on the table behind her.

She gave herself a moment to think as the alcohol buffered her against reality.

Yep, she was damned sure that Lucifer had just offered her Amir's life to do with as she wished, like a present or a novelty mug, like that was a real thing that actually happened in life.

To think she'd actually _liked_ mafia films before this.

#

She went back up to the apartment after that, leaving Lucifer down below to work his magic and set up an alibi if she knew him at all, and before she could be tempted to order a second martini.

Connor was still at his desk, hunched over, and sickly pale in the blue light of the reflected screens.

"Hey," she said, only a little awkwardly. It had been creepy, but he'd really pulled through with all of that information, and that deserved some recognition and gratitude. It was only fair. "Good work on Amir."

"I didn't do anything," Connor replied, turning only his head to peer over his shoulder at her, fingers still flying over the keyboard as he typed out what looked like a message on some sort of forum or message board; she was too tired to go and have a proper nose about.

"Yeah sure," Chloe rolled her eyes, "Plausible deniability, I get it. Try and get a few hours sleep alright? Don't try working all night, it won't do you any good."

"Who are you really trying to convince?" He asked, head turning back around to his screens. "Between the two of us, I wouldn't be worrying about _me._ "

She had a feeling he wasn't talking about sleep deprivation, but she'd reached her limit for the night and slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her.

The heels came off and she groaned in sheer bliss as her feet met cold, flat stone. It had been worth it, Amir had been thoroughly distracted, and nobody was going to remember her face if they were looking at her breasts, but oh she was glad she'd never have to wear any of it again, most especially Lucifer's damned lingerie.

She showered, changed, and collapsed onto the bed. As she rolled over - thinking vague thoughts about if it would be better or worse for her sanity to wash her borrowed underwear and return it to Lucifer or to keep it when he'd _know_ that she was keeping it –she caught a glimpse of the clock.

It was deep into the early hours of the morning, nearly three already, and her traitorous mind ran the numbers instantly, like they'd already been inside her mind, waiting to spring on her.

Thirty seven hours to go.

Well, exhausted or not, there went any chance of rest.

#

Because she couldn't possibly hate herself enough, she overslept the next morning.

"One o'clock?" Chloe gasped, scrambling out of bed and tearing off the scanty nightie she'd been reduced to – more of Mazikeen's nonsense – only to discover that the clothes she'd thrown to the floor last night had been washed and ironed, and now hung up neatly in the wardrobe, right next to the opulent display of red, rouge, and ruby lingerie.

One day, Chloe promised herself, she really _would_ strangle that man, but she was grateful not to have to go into the office looking as much as a mess as she felt. It was shallow, and her mouth twisted at her priorities, but appearances _mattered._ Especially hers, given her career, history and situation.

"Breakfast?"

"You're back," Chloe said, smiling faintly as Mazikeen rose from the sofa, tucking one of her far too many knives into an unseen holster. "Wait, where's Lucifer?"

"He's taking care of business," Mazikeen said, and pushed a cup of coffee across the marble table that Lucifer called a breakfast bar. Chloe drank it, needing it desperately for all the sleep she'd accidentally gotten last night. It was good, and the few synapses that adrenaline hadn't snapped awake, flared to life.

Right, well, Mazikeen was helpful this morning – afternoon. Chloe felt her insides twist again in guilt. Too late to change it, she told herself, taking another sip. Maybe the lost morning wouldn't damn her for the next fifty years if she just got enough _done_ today.

Determinedly, she turned to Brent's station. The desk was now littered with three empty mugs, the wrappers of multiple sugary snacks and a blanket. The hacker sat exactly as she'd left him – as if he hadn't moved all night – and morning damn it – long.

"Anything?" She tried not to put any emotion into the word, but it came out sounding wrecked with hope.

"I know more than I did yesterday," Brent said grimly. "I am forty-seven per cent certain I can find her before tomorrow."

It was a kick in the teeth. The numbers made an unwelcome reappearance in her mind. She'd overslept – selfish, stupid, awful woman – and that gave Trixie twenty-seven hours. Just over a day, to know her child's fate.

God damn it all.

"Did you find Amenadiel at least?" This she directed back to Mazikeen.

Mazikeen grimaced – perhaps the most human expression Chloe had ever seen her wear – and took out her knife again, angrily flipping it from hand to hand.

"Yes and no. I know where's he's been, I tracked him to the Castello place, saw his influence there, tracked him two miles east and then the trail vanished. Poof. Gone." She made a strange fluttering gesture with the hand not holding the knife, flicking her fingers out demonstratively. _Poof._

"What influence?" Chloe didn't like to think about Amenadiel's involvement. He hadn't exactly been a friend but they'd been cordial enough, until he'd turned around and decided to use her daughter as some sort of leverage over Lucifer.

Another man she'd misjudged.

Mazikeen gave her a long steady look, and Chloe scowled. Her patience for this sort of bullshit was already transparent and growing thinner. Hadn't she proved herself already? Wasn't it blatantly obvious to Lucifer's bartender – lieutenant? Right hand? – that Chloe wasn't going to betray them? Did she really think Chloe would dare until _after_ she had Trixie back?

"Do you really think Lucifer won't tell me when I ask him?" She raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone cool and flat. She didn't want to offend Mazikeen – but both of them knew that every time Mazikeen and Lucifer had argued over Chloe and Chloe's influence over him –Chloe knew there'd been many – Lucifer had always come down on her side.

The hit struck true, and Chloe tried to feel victory instead of guilt when Mazikeen grimaced again.

"Amenadiel's persuasive." The woman said sounding vaguely bored. "A little nudge here, a little whisper there, and bam, you're walking down a different path. The Castellos, our prey, everything was already in place – but out of the innumerable little brats running around the place, they picked yours to use." She pointed at Chloe with her knife. "The only child Lucifer could be made to care about. That's not chance, that's design."

Right, so, Amenadiel was some sort of negotiator? Chloe twisted her mind back and forth, trying to picture it. He'd been well spoken, sure. A highly educated man undoubtedly. Did being black help or hinder him, she wondered, before deciding it probably depended on his audience. He probably had a white counter part, for the same reasons, if her idea of the size of Lucifer's "Family" was accurate. What was it Lucifer had said? A lower order, one of many? Yes, that could fit.

What was his job, exactly? She had a hard time picturing Amenadiel meeting hostile strangers in abandoned warehouses negotiating the street price of each gram. Perhaps he operated out of a boardroom? Some sort of white-collar business that required the FBI to take down?

Speaking of…

"Are we liaising with the police at all?" Chloe asked gingerly. She didn't want to say anything that would ruin Lucifer's position with this crowd – snitches got stitches and so on – but there was no denying they'd amassed a solid block of information the FBI could use.

She hadn't even considered that they might _not_ be co-operating, but, well, she was too used to doing everything by the books. There wasn't a single report she'd written that couldn't be accessed by another agency or colleague with the right form. Besides, in her head she _was_ the police – and so hadn't quite twigged that her colleagues wouldn't know everything she knew.

Brent paused his work, and looked between her and Mazikeen – clearly deferring to the bartender for an answer.

Mazikeen shrugged.

"No."

On balance, Chloe decided that that hadn't been a refusal, just an answer. It was hard to tell with Mazikeen.

"…Could we?" She ventured.

Mazikeen shrugged again. "Lucifer didn't give me any orders either way."

Chloe's spine stiffened, and she turned to the hacker. "Send them what we have, please, but find a way to do it safely. I don't want them finding you, or us."

She took it as a victory that Connor didn't look to Mazikeen for confirmation, before switching screens and setting to his new task. "If they could find me, they'd find the other guy too," he scoffed, but then went silent as he focused.

Chloe silently prayed she hadn't just done anything to upset Lucifer's position. She knew he'd agree with her – or at least wouldn't resent the use of all possible resources – but she wished he were here to check. She had no idea how to navigate the currents of a criminal empire.

"When will Lucifer be back?"

"I'm to drive you to the station," Mazikeen replied, which Chloe took to mean _none of your business._

"Fine," Chloe said tightly. "Brent, you have my number. Text me regular updates, I wont be able to answer a call easily. Mazikeen, let's go, I'm already late."

Twenty-six hours to go.

#

Agent Johnson met her at the door, so Chloe knew the news was bad.

"Malcolm's _dead?"_

"Torn apart by dogs, right inside the cell," the older man replied, the deep bruising beneath his eyes telling her how much sleep he hadn't gotten last night.

"Dogs?" Chloe squeaked. "How did they get inside?"

"No idea."

With a sudden, sickening, clarity, Chloe remembered the conversation she'd had with Lucifer.

 _"Where are Mazikeen and Lilith?"_

 _"Lilith is out with the hounds."_

 _"I thought they couldn't find Trixie's trail."_

 _"She's not hunting for the spawn, detective."_

Lord above, Chloe thought, Lucifer had ordered this.

 _#_

A/N: - Anyone have any recomendations for Lucifer AMVs?


	19. Chapter 19

A/N-Hello all! Have you watched 3x01? Anyone else deeply annoyed by it?

#

The worst thing was how unsurprised she felt.

She'd _known_ hadn't she? How many times over the past few days had she had to take a mental step back and think, _wait_ - _what_? Lucifer's behaviour had always been that important little bit _off_ and she'd certainly seen and heard enough lately to put two and two together.

This was not a surprise.

Really, Chloe thought slowly, the only thing left to do was decide how she was going to react.

First off, murder was bad. She was relieved that that was still her initial reaction, and then came a rush of guilt that she was relieved. Before she'd even finished thinking _that_ , a very unwanted second thought popped up. _Malcolm hurt Trixie. He deserved it. He deserved_ worse.

She'd imagined what she'd do to The Collector, if they gave her five minutes alone in a room with him ( _Just five minutes, detective? Where's your imagination?_ ) and Malcolm was a man just as evil. Would she have done anything less to him, if she'd had the chance?

That led her to her quietest thought of all.

Did she care?

"Ms Decker?"

Chloe blinked slowly, and Agent Johnson's face came back into focus. He eyed her with professional interest.

Bugger.

"Heavy thoughts?" He asked leadingly.

"Stress," Chloe deflected flatly. "I'm sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying again?"

"You've performed remarkably well under stress up till now," he prodded.

Mentally apologising to the sisterhood, Chloe gave him a wan smile, "I suppose it had to catch up with me eventually." She sighed, ran a hand through her hair and let her shoulders droop, hoping she looked as tired and pathetic as she felt for once.

"I see," Agent Johnson said calmly, his gaze was uncomfortably sharp.

 _Why couldn't he put this much attention on actually_ finding _Trixie?_ She thought bitterly, and then had to mentally apologise to him. She was sure he _was_ doing just that. It wasn't his fault she was acting suspiciously because she knew her partner had just had somebody freaking _assassinated_.

"Would you like to watch the footage from the cell? I'm sure it will prove illuminating for you."

Trap.

Chloe knew it instantly. Johnson had _never_ been this helpful. That footage ought to be classified. He hadn't let her _smell_ the paperwork – not even the slow, laborious drudgery she'd volunteered for - and now he was letting her see video evidence?

Trap. Trap. Trap.

Yet, there was only one reply she could make.

"Oh could I?" She smiled, enthusing it with a bit of genuine gratitude – anything to take her mind off that ever-ticking-clock – and hoping it disguised the trepidation.

She was sure that whilst she watched the tape, he'd be watching her.

#

"Dare I ask?" Michaels offered Beck a wan smile and accepted the proffered coffee with gratitude. He took a long, glorious swallow. It was the good stuff from down the road rather than the weak powdered kind the tiny machine begrudged them here, but it brought him no relief. If Beck had felt the need to brace him with the good caffeine, then the news was bad.

He sighed.

"Nevermind. Hit me."

Beck did not pull her punches.

"We have a second friend online, and he's either a white hat or very insidious," Julie murmured to him, quietly.

Michaels closed his eyes, and took another gulp of coffee. Julie grimaced as she drank her own – larger - cup, and he felt her pain.

Their team had no choice but to continue working in the building – even if they knew it had been hacked and sabotaged.

The people, the computers, and the data – everything was here. To up and move it all would take more time than the victim had not to mention tipping their own hand too early, which left the FBI with the old school stuff; whispering in an already noisy room, paper notes and a lot of chats outside.

Beck had _sworn_ that she'd cleaned house – or at the very least the cameras and they gotten new burner phones – but fool them once. Now it seemed like their caution had been wise.

Two hackers. Two successful hacks at least – and they still hadn't found the girl.

They were so getting fired after this.

He tried to focus on the good part of her sentence – but he was having problems concentrating. Exhaustion was not his friend. It was _incredibly_ difficult to fall asleep in a building where three dogs could apparently waltz in, tear a man to pieces, eat him _alive,_ and foxtrot out again with no one the wiser.

"Why are they a white hat?"

"The email had an attachment – a massive data dump. Lists of every industrialised area within our radius, lists of every resident who purchased a shipping container within the last thirty years, a few lines implicating a certain notable family in the area, and a person of interest. You might even call it a report from another team."

"There is no other team."

"I know – and thus, the white hat."

"Johnson's going to love that," Michaels smirked, and drained his coffee.

Beck twisted her cup into a ball. "Where is he?"

"In the blue conference room, with the mother." He nodded in the right direction. "He's watching the video with her."

Beck was not a member of the team for nothing.

"He thinks she knows something," she concluded easily. "Well, I've got a few questions I'd like to ask her myself."

#

The footage was just as bad as she'd been expecting. Violent and gory with an edge of pure creepiness.

Was that Lilith's laughter? She didn't know the woman well enough to judge – but it _had_ to be. God, what sort of woman could _laugh_ at something like that?

Even she herself, who had the most cause to hate Malcolm, couldn't feel anything more than a wretched gladness that the threat to her daughter was dead. But to laugh?

It was immediately obvious, of course, that Brent had been at the data. The 'invisible' assailants had his muddy paw prints all over it.

"The true question here," Agent Johnson mused aloud with all the pretence of genuine confusion, "Is why they didn't bother to delete the records entirely. Surely that would have been easier, and they clearly knew the camera was there."

Of that, she had no doubt. If anything, they'd seen too _much_ from the single camera. Nothing had happened off screen, the flying viscera all flew in arcs easily depicted, and nothing had sprayed the protective cover despite the numerous arteries severed in the…melee.

Someone had been putting on a show.

She shrugged though, and pinched the bridge of her nose as if warding off a headache. To complete the scene, she rummaged in her bag for a foil tray of pills; visibly popping three and knocking them back like a pro with a dry swallow. They were only child-strength painkillers – as mild as milk really – but Johnson didn't need to know that

"Intimidation?" Chloe offered. "Arrogance or pride?" Those were not lines, but her genuine thoughts. The best lies required truth and Johnson would realise she was faking something if she tried to rationalise and deduce like anything but a cop.

He made a little hand motion. _Go on._

"Well we know the Collector likes attention. He likes the thrill – the game. He wants you to _know_ what he's done. He wants the power his reputation gives him."

"What makes you think it's our subject who did this?"

Chloe blinked guilelessly, and selected irritated exasperation. "Who else needs Malcolm dead? You saw that video – he knew something - he was ready to talk. He had to be silenced."

"Needing Malcolm dead is not the issue. _Wanting_ him dead on the other hand…"

Ah ha.

She rolled her eyes, and when they rolled down again they were hard. She leant forward into Johnson's space. "Malcolm sold my daughter into slavery. Of _course_ I wanted him punished. What mother wouldn't? I was _really_ looking forward to his _lifelong_ sentence in a really horrid prison as a former police-officer." She frowned, and made sure he could see it. "If anything – what Malcolm got was to quick. Violent, but fast. Stop chasing shadows, Agent, and _find Trixie."_

#

Agent Johnson left the video room without showing his irritation. The woman knew something. She'd gleaned _something_ from that video – but whatever it was, she wasn't telling.

Why would she hold her tongue?

She loved her daughter, she wanted the girl back – those two items were pure fact. He had no bad feeling that she was abusive or that there was some dark secret they wouldn't find out until it was too late.

Becks and Michaels were waiting for him. They exchanged looks, before Becks handed him the report they'd been waiting for.

Finally – a few answers.

 **Los Angeles Forensic Institute**

 ** _Report Reference_** _: FBI/17/DECKER/0716A357_

 _Incident Date_ _: ##/##/####_

 _Incident Location_ _: Los Angeles, Central Police Station._

 _CSI Team_ _: Blue-Nine_

 _Team Leader_ _: Dr Carol Johnson_

 _Summary_ _: Thirty-seven samples taken from scene. All labels correspond to correlating crime scene photographs. After an initial examination, we deduced an animal attack, and set about searching for hairs, teeth imprints, saliva and other forensic fragments associated with the standard operating procedure. There were three individual animals identified. We performed a genetic analysis on the evidence found, and the results are detailed below._

 _Special Notes_ _: Further details require Doctor-Agent conference. (Call me, Johnson!)_

Ignoring the note – he recognised both the handwriting and the name at the top of the report – Johnson scanned the document for the relevant parcels.

 _Species_ _: Unknown_.

Johnson stared down at that and felt the unease that had dogged his footsteps ever since they stepped foot in L.A return with a vengeance.

 _Species_ _: Unknown. Sample uncontaminated._

They had every breed on record. That was the _point_ of all the databases – rapid identification. Certainty. Not another flipping question mark to go on his next briefing to the higher ups.

 _Genetic Analysis_ _: 50% Wolf – British. 50% Mixed. Positive results identified from the following breeds: 10% St Bernard, 10% Irish wolfhound, 3% Alsatian 3% Border Collie, 3% Golden Labrador, 3% Greyhound, 3% Old English Sheepdog, 3% Husky, 3% Chihuahua, 3% Pug, 6% Unknown._

Fifty per cent British Wolf? Now he _knew_ they were fucking with him. Even he knew they'd exterminated wolves across the pond centuries ago.

He dug out the new phone Becks had given him, and dialled the number he unfortunately knew from memory.

"Oh it's you," the familiar voice of his ex-wife said. "I wondered when you'd ring. What the fuck sort of X-files shit have you got mixed up in now?"

"What the _Hell,_ Carol," Agent Johnson snapped. "What kind of bullshit report is this? Are you fucking with me? Did I forget someone's birthday?"

"Again? No you didn't _for once_ , and it's not bullshit. Perfectly legit. I checked the results myself, and I did you the _favour_ of not doctoring the results into something more easily digestible by your narrow little mind. I'll ask again – what sort of shit are you up to now? Genetic experiments? Mutation? Illegal laboratory?"

"I still can't – and _won't –_ tell you, dearest." He snapped. "Wolves?"

"Wolf hybrid," she confirmed seriously. "Not a fucking clue though – and trust me, we really want to know the answer here at the lab. I've got fifty dollars of your money on it. How do we have a live genetic sample of a sub-species of wolf that went extinct years ago?"

Johnson reached desperately for some kind of logic.

"Old bones," he gasped in relief. "Someone must have implanted an old jaw bone onto a mutt."

"Nope," she replied, now sounding amused. "We have a fragment of a tooth, if you'd actually _read_ my entire report – you'll see that it's 27A on the list. I had it carbon dated – and you owe me a favour for the one I had to call in to get that overnight– and it's only nine years old. Actual tooth too, no plastic, no metal, no modern dentistry in evidence either."

"Shit," he swore. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"X-files? New division for you Johnson? Any obscure promotions you want to tell me about?"

"Normal case," he growled. "Normal town, normal criminal."

"Oh are you _sure,_ darling? Because I've spoken with Mohammed from digital analysis and he told me _all_ about that video. Which I've now watched. _That_ didn't look normal to me."

"Clearly doctored."

"You haven't read Mohammed's report either, have you honey?"

"What ever happened to confidentiality?"

"All in-house, dear," she replied breezily. "And we both know gossip's always been the stronger currency here. Now are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Only when you give me something I can _use."_

"I've given you a dozen new leads," she protested. "Think about access to these sort of materials, the knowledge base, the _money_."

"Thank you darling, you've made my workload _so much_ easier." He hung up on her with relish, only regretting he couldn't slam this pone like a landline one for the extra satisfaction.

X-files. He snorted. Yeah right.

#

"Ah, there you are. Hello, my name's Lucifer, Lucifer Morningstar, mind if I come in?"

"Oh god."

"No, no, weren't you listening? _Lucifer."_

"Oh god."

"There really is no helping your sort is there? Oh well, I just popped over for a little chat, regarding that Favour you owe me, there's a good fellow."

"Oh god."

"That's the spirit!"

"Oh god."

#


	20. Chapter 20

Happy Christmas everyone! Enjoy this present :) Also, I have posted a new Lucifer story called Devilish Delights.

#

"Do we have any _good_ news?" Johnson asked reluctantly. He didn't want to tempt fate by asking for something positive, but he had his limits. This case had been a nightmare all around.

The mother was lying. The father was a dirty cop. The lover was a dangerous man. Time was fast running out. And, they'd been hacked. Twice.

It was too much to believe that one hacker was 'good.' He despised the term white-hat - as if breaking the law for an individually judged code of morality ever benefited a society – twenty-four hours left, and the press were barking at his heels. His boss was screaming at him down the phone and his ex-wife was betting on the life of a little girl.

Beck and Michaels exchanged speaking looks.

"I've checked out some of hmm - let's call them Mr White's - information. It checks out. Solid research, logical analysis, he shouldn't have access to the data they did, but they've raked it over faster than we could and, well, there's a lot here."

He held out a block of paperwork.

Johnson looked at it; that had to be at least three inches thick.

"Mr White included a summary," Michaels added. "And an index, and page numbers."

"How thoughtful." Johnson sighed, and took it. He could not refuse even a faint, probably fake, lead - not anymore. He paused, realising he was looking at this from the wrong angle. What it said didn't matter; fact was they'd been _contacted_. Maybe it was the Collector creating a red herring or maybe it was a third party, but it was definitely _new._

He took it over to his desk. Beck and Michaels followed, which meant there was something more they wanted to discuss. For a moment, he had the absurd urge to hide under said desk. He blinked, and it was gone. Duty.

Johnson found it neatly labelled on the contents page in clear size 12 Times New Roman font, shameless.

 _Interrogation of Suspect One, p35-42._

It laid neatly in-between _Suggested Avenues of Investigation 42-44_ and _Persons of Interest 31-34._

"It's mostly a one sided transcript," Becks burst out. "Much of the interrogator's part has been removed, even some of the suspect's, but they've left the gaps and it mostly makes sense."

"A vigilante suspect, and thus also a victim", Johnson corrected her. The law was the law and it applied to everyone or it applied to no one, no matter how galling that could be. They were not judges.

It clicked.

The agent stared down at the paper to hide the realisation in his eyes from his team. He knew, with the suddenness of intuition and instinct exactly who was responsible for this new tangle.

Had he not just been thinking it earlier?

 _The lover was a dangerous man._

Two days ago – and god was it only two days – he'd read Mr Morningstar as a playboy, rich and bored, looking for a new thrill. It hadn't seemed to matter much; he'd get bored but why not use him whilst they could? Besides, it was a local matter; the agencies had trouble enough interacting as it was without anyone thinking he was an interfering busybody.

Except, well, Johnson had been in the business for decades. He didn't spill his guts like a rotten tomato. He didn't _care_ how stressed he'd been, how exhausted. What had happened when Morningstar had drawn him away… no. Was he supposed to believe he could hold up under torture but not a smile? It just shouldn't have happened. He wasn't a rookie, he wasn't _flighty,_ he knew what confidential meant.

It had suddenly made the local gossip relevant.

He normally didn't care for the regional office politics, seen one seen them all, and there were only so many times he could overhear tales of one man's bedroom prowess before he got uncomfortable. _Lucifer was so handsome. Lucifer was so charming. Lucifer was sleeping with her,_ her _, her,_ her _, and him._ All of it useless trivia until he'd heard _Lucifer was weird. Strange. There's just something off about him. That was lucky, wasn't it? Must be a coincidence. Lucifer did his thing and it was game over after that._

His 'thing.' As if it was a recognised skill or talent, an _event,_ established and known.

Thinking about it made him feel awkward. What if – but no. Impossible.

And none of this was actually helping him to make a decision about this Mr White and his far too convenient assistance.

Could he trust this information?

Did he abandon all procedure, all protocol and all _common sense_ on the hunch that this information was real and actionable?

It'd be an impossible choice to defend. Proper police work was slow, laborious and thorough – and that was the way they liked it. He didn't rely on information from random and illegal sources, he didn't take officers away from searching CCTV footage, of hunting through records, of _real_ and _necessary_ tasks to go and arrest a man on the word of another criminal.

And yet…He was tired. He knew what happened to the victims when he couldn't get there in time, he'd seen too many children die in his lifetime, and had to read the autopsy reports afterwards. He didn't want to add another dead kid to his conscience.

Whatever Morningstar's agenda, at least he wanted the girl alive.

Fuck it, he thought. Just fuck it all. At least I can say I _tried_. The old ways weren't working – nobody could deny that - so it was time to try something new.

"So, who is Amenadiel and why should we be arresting him?"

#

"Amenadiel – no last name – is the supposed brother of one Mr Morningstar of our acquaintance," Julie said immediately. Clearly, she'd already done the research whilst he'd been sequestered with the mother and that god-awful video.

There was Morningstar's motive too: family drama.

"Considering their skin colours, and the lack of any official records that are not obviously fake, I think it's safe to say we're talking 'brothers' of the other sort," Michaels added.

"He was in the station yesterday too. Detective Espinoza said he witnessed an argument between this Amenadiel – weird name– and Mr Morningstar. It got pretty heated, and only ended when Detective Decker insisted Amenadiel leave."

"Amenadiel," Agent Johnson mused, leaning back in his chair. "The suffix -el, meaning _of God_ , and that young lady who interrupted us so spectacularly yesterday was named Lilith, I believe. I'm beginning to see a pattern."

"There's CCTV stills in the package, Amenadiel meeting with a man I think you'll recognise."

Johnson looked down at Mr White's briefing and turned to page 31. Half way down, under a detailed summary, there were a dozen small photos. Not the best quality given what they had to work with here, but Amenadiel was recognisable from his description and doubtless, a few people here could identify him for them. The other man was Peter Castello.

They were shaking hands, smiling, in Castello's personal study. He'd seen that room before.

"Proof enough to bring them both in for a little chat, don't you think?" Julie wheedled.

Johnson looked at the white board. A photograph of a smiling little girl in the middle, the seventh since this case began. He looked down at the flimsy, biased and unverifiable 'evidence' from a hacker who was probably working for Lucifer bloody Morningstar. He looked at the faces of his team – hopeful for the first time in a very, very long time. He looked at his badge, thrown down onto his desk hours ago. He looked at the whiteboard again. That smile would haunt him if she died, he just knew it.

"We move on this and it's a bust, we're all fired," he warned.

Michaels shrugged, "Let's be honest, we're going down for this anyway. Seven victims, no arrest and a media shitstorm? We're already an embarrassment, the bureau wont have a choice if there's an eighth."

Well, he couldn't deny _that_.

"So be it."

#

She really didn't want to do this.

Chloe looked into the interrogation room. Her husband still sat at the desk, staring blankly at the wall.

Still, they had to talk, and it had to be now, when Lucifer was busy elsewhere – not that she actually _knew_ what he was doing because he wasn't answering her texts the irritating little – and she was procrastinating again.

Bracing herself, Chloe went in.

"Dan."

He looked over at her – and looked away.

Shame.

Good, she thought, vindictively, feeling dark, no, _righteous_ satisfaction at the sight of his misery. He deserved no better.

He'd lied to her, sabotaged her career and he'd kept his dirty secrets even when it became clear that they as well as a dozen other crimes had endangered Trixie.

"Malcolm huh?"

God, was that really her voice? She had no idea she could sound so cold. He flinched away from her and it was good.

"Why?"

He shrugged. He fucking _shrugged._

"Coward."

"What do you want me to say?" Dan stood, shouting. "It was just a little extra cash here and there, where was the harm Chloe? Do you think I'd have done it if I knew it would lead to this? It was just money. Money we _needed_ with a baby on the way! Malcolm's the one who went _psycho_ after your fucking boyfriend got to him, not me. This has nothing to do with me!"

"I don't care about how it started," Chloe said, feeling calmer the more enraged Dan became. "Do you think that matters now? Well, except to the judge," she needled because this could never be forgiven, "I care that you knew Malcolm was crooked, you _knew_ he hated me in particular and you _knew_ a cop helped The Collector but you _didn't say anything._ You stayed quiet to protect yourself, and my daughter is paying the price."

"Our daughter."

Chloe scoffed. "You won't apologise will you?"

Dan changed tracks. "I'm _sorry_ Chloe – you know I'm not like that, you know-"

She held her hand up and he fell silent.

"I'm done," she said quietly. "I'm just done. When this over, I'm getting the divorce papers. Sign. I never want to see you again."

She turned and left, refusing to hear another word he said. He tried to chase after her, but she ignored that too.

She was done.

#

Lucifer wasn't one for doubting. He made his choices, and he stood by them proudly. That was the way it had always been. He had no regrets.

But there was a flicker of shadow within his light; the detective would not like this course of action.

It shouldn't matter; he'd kept his word, hadn't he? He'd made no bargains about _methods_ but… well, exactly: _but_.

He brooded over the half-empty bottle.

He'd been happy the past six years. Free. He'd been able to live amongst mortals; mortals who still had their glorious flesh and their hot blood. All those emotions, all of that passion – it had been sensual ecstasy after so very long below – and there was far less screaming topside. It wasn't a holiday, it was an _escape_.

Without his Mantle he'd been, well, he didn't know _what_ he'd been. And that had been new, _exciting_. Giving it up and been the perfect _fuck you_ to dear old dad. _I will not play your game anymore. I will not be your scapegoat._

Six years later – a mere quarter of a blink in time– he'd taken it all back. It was a very bitter pill to swallow.

He hadn't _had_ to. There'd been plenty of mortal means he could have tried first, it was just that failure would have been...unacceptable. Unthinkable. The Detective's face would have gone all pale, her eyes would have been all blurry with salt-water and he'd never _ever_ have heard the end of it.

Dad must be _howling_ with laughter, the bastard.

It wasn't much of a second rebellion, six mortal years. Dad was probably patting himself on the back – job well done, everybody toeing the line once more as he must have known all along. As he must have _planned_.

No, he did not regret it, but he _did_ wish it hadn't been necessary. How likely was that though? With the ultimate puppermaster plying his craft upstairs? It had only ever been a matter of time, Lucifer knew, before he was reeled back in – and that really only made the whole thing worse, hence the bottle. Sometimes, it was like he was the only slave who could see his chains.

When the Detective had called him, he'd weighed his options carefully.

Futile rage had squirmed and roared with defiance and defeat inside of him. It wasn't _fair._ He didn't _want_ to go back. Not even for the Detective would he do it -

But the child was innocent.

She did not deserve to pay the price for his choices. She did not deserve the pawn's fate. There'd be no blood stained altar in her future.

Dad would have his way whether she lived or died, and so she might as well live. Beatrice's life didn't matter to Him, but it did to Lucifer and drawing out this new game wasn't worth the cost to the Detective. Dad wouldn't stop just because Lucifer ignored Him and His loyal agent. Trixie would only have been the first to die.

Dad had put his foot down. Lucifer had caved.

It was defeat. And it _hurt._

He felt her presence before she spoke. How could he not when she burned like a star? Such a very _bright_ soul even with the veil of sin, no wonder he hadn't been able to resist. Even now, it called to him.

"You haven't been answering my texts."

"You weren't sexting," Lucifer told his whisky roughly. It was nine hundred years old, a whole barrel traded to him by a farmwife who desperately needed a son if she was going to survive; it was his go-to drink for hard thinking.

"Lucifer."

He abandoned the drink and turned to her, feeling the weight of inevitability settle about them.

"There's only eighteen hours left. Please tell me you have something." Her voice was raw with emotion, and he couldn't bear to see her pain. Even if she hated him – it would be worth it.

For all his vices, he'd never been craven.

The Devil looked the Detective straight in the eye and took her hand in his. She didn't flinch, but she would by the end of this. He savoured the contact, the _trust,_ whilst he had it.

"I do, but you aren't going to like it."

#


	21. Chapter 21

Lucifer's expression was so reserved; Chloe knew he was telling the truth, as he always did. She would _not_ like his plan at all.

It was rare that she couldn't identify his emotions; unlike most men, he made no attempt to keep them hidden. If he was happy, everyone knew it, if he was unhappy, he made _sure_ everyone knew it.

But there – right there in his eyes – something alien swirled.

Was that…fear?

No wonder she hadn't recognised it. Lucifer feared _nothing_. Point a gun in his face and he offered you a drink, set a dozen men on him and he straightened his cufflinks with a smirk, threaten to kill him and he double dog dared you to do it; He laughed when he should run, and he cavorted in the thrill of it all, utterly shameless.

But he was afraid now.

Chloe made an instant and irreversible decision. She was _not_ going to ask.

It was a shockingly easy choice to make, the deliberate ignorance.

She should be more suspicious. Lucifer told her _everything_ – especially when she'd rather not hear all the sordid details. If he was restraining himself now… God knew Lucifer had given her enough cause for doubt. Malcolm's death weighed heavily upon her, and she knew it would for a long time yet. Even if she didn't feel as guilty as she thought she should. Honestly, she cared more about Lucifer's part in it than the actual death.

Assassination.

Lucifer had _assassins_ on call. That was the bit she couldn't swallow. Lilith called him _'My Lord,'_ knelt at his feet and laughed whilst she murdered a stranger because Lucifer had told her to. Actually, this was _Lucifer_ – he probably just _texted_ and Malcolm's string was snipped.

He made it look so _easy,_ he was so blasé about the whole thing. One whiskey and one murder please. It had been _too_ easy for him. The only explanation was that he'd done it before, many times, and gotten away with it so frequently that he'd had plenty of time to build up that sort of nonchalance. It was just awful to think about. He was her friend, not a criminal.

This time murder had been done for her. Vengeance, even. Swift and brutal – a message to anyone watching that a line had been drawn, and it had been crossed. She did not doubt that more would die before the end. Lucifer had to _show_ the world the consequences of crossing him. It was pure macho bullshit – territory and _my woman_ and yet…She was horrified, but she was _so_ grateful for that protection if it meant no one could ever harm Trixie again (and dear god, there could be no _again_ she would not survive _again)._

Lucifer was her friend; he was helping her but his _methods._

For god's sake he'd told her _to her face_ that Lilith was out hunting. It was practically a confession! To her! An officer of the law and he'd just come out and _said it._

Was it arrogance? Or did he just not _care,_ or think she'd care for that matter, and what about the –

Everything stopped.

She'd called Lucifer a hundred things, but she'd never said he was an idiot. He was frighteningly intelligent, and seemed to know something about any and every subject that she brought up (and there had been an awful lot of hours to fill on stakeouts). He was perhaps the most well-read man she'd ever known. Nobody else had _opinions_ on Mesopotamian art or the strategems of Genghis Khan.

Lucifer had not forgotten her job or her calling. He didn't think revenge would matter more to her than the law. He _trusted_ her; that was why he'd told her.

Lucifer – a man who was as near as allergic to emotions as science could support and then some.

A man whose actions showed without doubt that he trusted her nonetheless.

Chloe knew nearly everything, because Lucifer _hadn't_ lied. She had names of prominent members of his organisation, she knew the ranks, the titles and she had the boss, Lucifer himself- as well as his mysterious shadow figure of a father.

Of course, if she said anything she'd have to arrest herself she thought cynically. But even knowing that she couldn't ascribe some sort of evil machination to Lucifer's honesty.

He'd shown her his true face – and so help her god but she really had made her choice with that phone call, just as he had made his. She'd called, and he had come, knowing the consequences he would have to endure, he had come.

Knowing that her faith in him was returned… it changed nothing, but it changed everything.

She squeezed Lucifer's hand, smiled gently and said "OK."

"OK?" He echoed, blinking once – the most surprised she'd ever seen him except for that very first time she'd refused to go to bed with him. (That memory always brought a smile to her lips. His _face._ )

She reclaimed her hand gently, perceiving how Lucifer's twitched slightly as if he wanted to grab it back, and pressed both of her hands to either side of Lucifer's unfairly symmetrical face, tugging him down until he was looking at her properly.

"It's _alright,"_ she said as earnestly as she knew how, willing him to believe her. "I. Trust. You."

His bewilderment saddened her. Here he was, her friend, the man who'd once carried her out of a burning building, kicking doors down like an action hero – and he still couldn't comprehend her faith in him.

She tried her best to explain, feeling angry that something so fundamental had been shattered inside of him. "I don't _need_ to know all the details if you're uncomfortable sharing them, if you think it's better I don't know. I understand that your people have their codes and the importance of secrecy. If you say it'll work, that's enough for me. Alright? We're in this together."

He stared down at her, searching for something. She didn't know what it was, but she tried to give it to him, willing him to see her honesty.

To whatever end, there could be no going back now.

"Very well, Detective," he murmured. "Thank you."

The moment was broken when something beeped over at Connor's den of mysterious technology. In fact, Chloe could have sworn that the wires and monitors had spawned offspring since she'd last glanced over. Why did he need five screens anyway?

"Boss!" Connor chirped, spinning around in his chair oversized headphones about his neck and eyes wide with too much caffeine and something else that looked like soul-wrenching relief.

"Yes?" Lucifer asked, arching an eyebrow at the display.

"Plan B is a go," Connor beamed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Your guy came through." He grinned widely, and he looked like a completely different man.

"He owed me a favour," Lucifer said a statement, not an explanation.

"Lucifer-" Chloe asked, feeling nauseous with hope.

"Hush, Detective," Lucifer replied, bringing her in for a hug which told Chloe all she needed to know about this plan B. She clung to him anyway, tightly enough she'd have cracked another man's rib – not that Lucifer seemed to notice it. "Plan B is…unpleasant. You will not be happy with me, but I keep my word once given."

He thought he was going to lose her.

Eugh. No _wonder_ he was acting so strange. Lucifer could barely tolerate the idea of having a real friend and not a friend with benefits. If he thought she'd go if he stepped over some ethical line… well, he might have been right once. But not now and never again.

"Lucifer," she struggled to find the words, to find a compromise she could live with, "Trixie is everything. I'm a _mother_. I will always put her first. There _are_ no means that will not justify an end which has her back in my arms."

"So you say now," Lucifer brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "So you say now."

Chloe groaned aloud and banged her head against his chest. She could barely deal with her own emotions let alone dealing with Lucifer's current crisis. Maybe she ought to talk to Linda after this was over – a joint session of some sort. She hoped Linda dealt with children. Trixie was going to need _so much therapy_ and she was _not_ thinking about why.

Right now, it was down to her though, and never let it be said that Chloe passed the buck.

"Lucifer," she said calmly, looking back up at him. "I give you _my_ word this time, there are no means that will not justify the end which has Trixie returned to me."

Lucifer smiled – but it was a small sad smile. He kissed her once on the forehead without even _trying_ to cop a feel so she knew that he really wasn't himself.

"As you say, Detective."

He stepped back and clapped his hands together. "Right, so I hear you ordered my brother turned over to the FBI's tender mercies."

When Lucifer wanted to sidestep an emotional conversation, he was _not_ subtle.

She crossed her arms and considered Lucifer.

It was hard to tell what with that obnoxiously cheery tone, whether or not Lucifer was angry. Despite being a detective, she couldn't believe it had taken her up until now to realise that it must be a creepily effective mask for a Don. Instead of the traditional stone-faced grimness, Lucifer practiced a more off-putting façade.

It was an odd thought, but it would not be ignored; Lucifer must have been a _really good_ Don.

"Yes," Chloe said. "I did."

Lucifer kept smiling.

"I understand that he is your 'brother,'" she mimed quotation marks, "and no doubt your 'family' have their own… internal complaint procedures," her mind skimmed over those pesky details, "but my priority is Trixie. Letting the FBI have Amenadiel was more efficient. They're good trackers." She held his gaze evenly. "I'm not sorry, but I do hope it won't cause you any problems later on when he is arrested?" The last word held a slight lilt so he knew it was a question and not a statement. She did feel a mite uncomfortable about it, Lucifer's family was complicated enough without her causing problems, but neither Mazikeen nor Connor had hesitated after she'd given the go ahead and she felt sure Mazikeen would have, had it been contrary to any of Lucifer's orders.

"No." Lucifer put a hand on her lower back and guided her over to the long leather sofa in front of the open fireplace. It was the sort of gesture that had annoyed her whenever Dan or her other boyfriends tried it, but Lucifer's touch lacked that irritating edge of control.

The fireplace was black marble – what else – and Chloe remembered thinking it was overly ostentatious when she'd first seen it, the same day she'd first seen Lucifer naked come to think of it and _what was her life coming to_ when the word 'first' could be attached to seeing Lucifer naked. Eugh. Still, the warmth and the sound of crackling and the image of the flickering tongues of orange and red was comforting to her now.

The light played over Lucifer's features, placing strange shadows that did not belong there and giving a cruel glint to his eyes.

"Let _him_ know what it's like to be reviled by the masses for once," Lucifer continued. "What it feels like to be universally _hated_ and hunted."

He wasn't talking to her anymore. She felt her mouth twist, but let it go. She was never going to really understand Lucifer's past unless he told her – and now was not the time.

Now was the time for Trixie.

Her heart clenched. Eighteen hours. Well, less than that now. Minus eight for sleep, another one to get ready and get to the station and that left only nine for working the case.

Ha! As if she was getting any sleep tonight.

"You should rest."

Chloe grunted.

"You'll do her no good if you're too tired to think."

Chloe shrugged, kicking her shoes off and curling her feet under her, staring numbly at the fire, suddenly feeling cold. She was done. She was excluded from the official investigation. She'd chased down every lead she could. There was nothing left for her to do but wait and torture herself with thinking.

It was down to Lucifer now.

#

A/N - Show time!


	22. Chapter 22

He held her all through the night, his excruciatingly mortal Detective, lending her his strength when her own wavered holding a silent vigil as the hours passed.

Chloe's agony was palpable to him, it rang though the air like a gong, deep and thrumming as her soul writhed in pain, drowning in grief and misery. It hurt – and oh how strange this sensation called pain still was – that he could do nothing more for her.

His word was given.

There was no greater oath he could make. It was absolute a way no mortal could comprehend. It wasn't a joke when he said his word was his bond.

Lucifer had sworn on his very _Name,_ and all the others that came under the aegis of _The Devil,_ that he would save the child - and so he would. One plus one equals two. Chloe may not like his plan, she may never forgive him for the things he was about to do but he no longer cared.

Her disgust, he could live with, her pain, he could not.

#

"Will you stay with me today?" Chloe asked softly, eyes glassy with some form of numbed horror and shock as Lucifer plied her with a hot toddy when the lightening sky became impossible to ignore and she'd stumbled to the kitchen.

Lucifer grimaced as he looked at her grey face, her rat's nest of hair and bloodshot eyes. Magnanimously, he decided not to mention any of it. She was having a bad enough day as it was.

"I can not. My oath to you requires my presence elsewhere today. I can send Mazikeen?"

He tagged on the latter hesitatingly. He'd _prefer_ to be with the Detective – but duty. He'd never broken his word in his life and he wouldn't start now. Not even for her. Besides, she'd find more comfort in the presence of her infuriating spawn than she would in holding his hand – _eugh_ , emotions – whilst the offspring was sold like chattel.

Cheap chattel at that, which was just plain _tasteless_.

"No. Leave Mazikeen doing whatever it is that she's doing. I'll be fine on my own."

The Douche would be there too, but Lucifer was pleased that she no longer counted that creature's presence as an asset. He also knew she was lying through her teeth, but he would let her have her delusions. Her hair was fine, she was fine, it was all fine.

She looked so miserable though, and the newspaper in front of her was not helping – it's bold headline proclaiming DAY OF RECKONING with Beatrice's picture below it, as well as a column of statistics about chances of survival and the FBI's current deplorable success rate.

Lucifer sat down next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, wishing he could do something. Wage an endless war against an omniscient enemy? Done. Free a soul from Hell? Easy! Comfort a grieving mother? Not so much.

So he did what he did best.

"You know it's not _really_ the Day of Reckoning, don't you? I'd know if it was, and believe me it wouldn't be nearly this quiet if the Hosts of Heaven had descended. Between you and me, they are _loud._ All those horns, and the singing, Detective, the endless _singing,_ not to mention the righteous speeches. You could hear them from a mile away."

She snorted, finally putting the paper down and focusing on her drink. She sighed after the first sip, which meant she'd finally noticed what he'd pressed into her hands, but she drank it anyway. Lucifer nodded approvingly. Tea with alcohol – the perfect start to any day, but _especially_ today.

It was also the last day that she'd ever take anything from him so unquestioningly again, but he firmly took the thought by the neck and wrung it out like a wet towel. What was done, was done.

"I've never broken my word, Detective. Not once since the whole _Let There Be Light_ era. By tonight, Beatrice will be back in your arms. This I swear."

It was a sign of how distracted his Detective was that she didn't notice how the world reacted to his vow. How reality bent under the force of his edict, colours brightening echoed by a faint trumpeting of horns.

She laughed, a tiny little broken noise that made him flinch, wings rustling uneasily behind him. A cloud immediately passed over the sun, darkening the earth for a second.

"I know. It's only _because_ I believe in you that I can walk into that station today."

She had faith in him.

Lucifer sat, too stunned to move as he _felt_ her belief, a warm living pulse of power woven of love and hope and genuine _faith._ There was grief in it too, and desperation, but right then a mortal woman _believed_ in Lucifer.

"Oh, Detective."

###

Johnson was immediately suspicious when simply releasing Amenadiel's photo to make the rounds netted them a location within a few hours.

They hadn't taken a step forward without three steps back for the entire case, and now their person of interest was just _sitting in a bar_?

Mind you, Malcolm had been doing something similar. Perhaps there was something about this case that drove men mad.

He sighed, his headache returning with a vengeance. A simple photo and they had him. This whole time, the tried and true methods had failed again and again, The Collector evading them all and now this.

"It could still be a trap," Michaels said warily as he stepped out of the car, eyeing the bar – a former church of all places – warily. "Is it weird that I'd prefer a trap?"

Johnson snorted. At least he wasn't the only one becoming superstitious. When they all got fired for this disaster of an investigation perhaps they could become ghost-hunters. Heck maybe they'd rate their own TV show.

The local cops had surrounded the building for all the good it would do. The bar had exactly one back entrance down a dead-end alley.

"How do you want to play this?" Price asked quietly.

"Calmly, we don't want a scene right now. I suggest one of us just walks in the front door. Amenadiel isn't known for carrying guns."

"You think he's going to be rational? Hand himself in?"

"I think it's better than even odds," Johnson replied calmly. "There's nowhere else to go, and he's smart enough to know that we've got nothing on him right now."

"We've got all the-

"Nothing we can use in court. Unless you want to swear in front of a judge that the nice hacker told you who to arrest."

She grimaced. It hadn't really needed to be said; they all knew the score. The best they could hope for was to blindside Amenadiel with suspicion and Mr White's CCTV footage – let him draw his own conclusions – the usual spiel.

Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't. At least they'd really given it their all. Johnson did not envy his replacement. They'd have one hell of a mess to sort out.

He tried not to think like that. If he gave Beatrice Decker up as lost, she would be. He was the one in charge of finding her – if he gave up she was as good as dead.

But the clock was ticking.

He holstered his weapon and walked into the bar, Michaels on his heels.

Amenadiel turned him head to look at them – and Johnson almost took a step back.

The eyes.

He'd seen all sorts throughout his life; career assassins, grieving mothers, exploited children, gangbangers, the wrongfully imprisoned and veterans back from a war they couldn't speak of, but he'd never seen eyes like that before.

They fell upon him like a grand piano. Age, he thought. Yes, those were old eyes, far older than Amenadiel's youthful appearance warranted – not that they'd found a birth certificate. Unfathomable too – it was like staring into the void between stars, there was nothing to be read there. No emotion and no soul.

After a moment of profound silence, Amenadiel spoke.

'This is my punishment then, Father." He flicked his gaze upwards, and Johnson felt that unnatural weight vanish. He took his first breath since they'd locked gazes and let it out shakily, counting to five.

"It's Agent, actually, not Father," he affected a dry tone but feared it came out as more of a rasp.

Amenadiel gave not a single shit.

"Why?" he asked the ceiling.

It was a mark of the sort of year that Johnson was having that he waited politely to see if the ceiling would reply.

"I obeyed," Amenadiel pronounced, setting the glass down on the bar. "I obeyed," he told no one, quiet and lost.

"Obeyed who?" Michaels seized the opportunity, but Amenadiel didn't say another word, not even when Johnson read him his rights and put him under arrest. The man was already defeated, pliant and apathetic under his hand as they led him out of the bar and into the back of a squad car.

"Was it just me," Michaels murmured later, "or was that really fucking odd?"

"I was expecting the ceiling to talk back," Johnson confessed. "Yes. It was odd."

"There's something wrong with his eyes," Michaels carried on faintly. "They didn't look… it was just weird. Gave me the shivers."

Human, Johnson silently filled in the blank. They hadn't seemed human.

#

The interrogation went terribly.

Amenadiel sat on his little metal chair with his hands folded neatly on his lap and stared at nothing, completely silent.

Michaels slammed his hands onto the desk. "You're in for it now, mate. Kidnapping? A paedophile ring? You think you're ever going to see daylight again? Huh? Huh! Answer me, ingrate. Don't have the words to defend yourself? I'm not fucking surprised!"

If Johnson thought Amenadiel wasn't even hearing Michaels right now, he'd be relieved. That blankness was just creepy. But it was all too clear that Amenadiel heard every word – he just didn't care.

He hated dealing with the broken ones.

"We can protect you from the Castello family," Michaels promised soothingly, coming around to sit across from Amenadiel, leaning forward, intent. "What does he have on you? Blackmail? Debt? Do you think we care about any of that when we can get the whole family in one swoop? The FBI will make a deal, Amenadiel, but you have to give me something to give to them. You need to prove that you're going to cooperate. A bit of give and take, you feel me?"

Nothing.

"There's a little girl out there man. She's scared and alone. Look at her!" Michael held the picture to Amenadiel's apathetic gaze. "What could a child have done to deserve this? Nothing. I know it, and you know it. Do the right thing!"

Nothing.

"You know what happens to guys like you in prison?"

And on, and on, and on. No matter what Michaels tried, Amenadiel was silent. He double-teamed him with Price. They did good cop bad cop. They threatened, cajoled, blackmailed and bribed. They tried the company man. The friend. The us against them.

The clock ticked on.

Michaels tried to make him angry. He tried appealing to his better nature. He insulted his pride. He bamboozled him, pressing the hard-sell whilst withholding even so much as a glass of water.

Amenadiel was clearly a professional.

"I have an idea," Price ventured softly, three hours in to the most frustrating interrogation of Johnson's career.

"Yes," he prodded after a few moments.

"It's a bit unorthodox."

Johnson snorted gesturing to Mr White's report sitting prominently on the table, now glorified with two and a half pen's worth of highlighter ink and the full rainbow of sticky labels. They'd passed unorthodox some time ago.

"Well Amenadiel and Mr Morningstar are brothers."

Grunt.

"They both carry religious names. It's not a wild guess to say that religion is important to that family. Sin and guilt were probably fed to them with their bread and butter. If we were to tap into that, I think we'd see results."

"And you have a plan for that, do you?"

"Let Amenadiel meet Detective Decker. Bring her in for his questioning, or just stick them in a room together. They know each other through Mr Morningstar. If Amenadiel were to come face to face with the consequences of his actions – it could trigger that old guilt factor."

"She'd rip his eyes out before letting him say a word."

"She's shown remarkable composure throughout this ordeal and she's capable of seeing the bigger picture. I think it's worth a shot, and at this point sir…"

They both glanced through the one-way mirror where Michaels was now attempting to make Amenadiel angry by not-so-thinly-veiled racism.

Johnson agreed immediately. They had little left to lose.


End file.
